Partition
by x0wynn0x
Summary: Part 5 - Possessive. You feel like you're a dog, she's a cat, and you're both acting territorial over this grocery store. FaberryWeek!
1. Reunion

**AN: **Happy Faberry Week! Greatest week of mankind. This is where I'm going to keep all of my one-shots for the week, and they're all related/set place in the same universe. The story will be AU after the Thanksgiving episode. Most of these were written in a rush, so please excuse all the errors (and there will probably be a lot). I also want to pay someone to write all smut scenes for me.

**Summary: **Reunion. Rachel just wants everyone to have fun, but Quinn is ruining her mojo. If that's not all, she has five other people to worry about and babysit. She contemplates her life and wonders why nothing ever goes her way.

* * *

"Ok, on the count of three I say we should just chug it."

"Are you sure this is safe, Noah? I've seen stories where college students have died from drinking these, and you know those Facebook chain letters rarely lie."

"Yeah, that's why I'm now dead for not forwarding all those spam," said Mercedes, bumping Rachel on the shoulder. She held up her can of Four Loko and tapped it against Puck's. "But FYI, if I do chug this whole thing and end up with alcohol poisoning, I'm coming after your pasty ass."

Puck's grin moved from Mercedes to Rachel. "You in?"

"I'm only doing it if we all do it," Mercedes said.

Rachel's face twisted in displeasure. "Fine."

"Hell yeah!" Puck popped another can for her. "Ok, on the count of three. Here's to a bombing night! One…two…three!"

The two of them, Mercedes and Puck, tilted their heads back and bottomed up their drinks. The cold tin of the can touched Rachel's lips before she chickened out and pretended to be distracted by Mike and Kurt, both of whom flew out from behind the curtains separating Kurt's bedroom. Kurt was finishing up his tie, but Mike appeared distraught and confused.

"I can't find my stunna shades!" He eyed everyone suspiciously before patting down Puck's pockets while Puck was still chugging.

Rachel rubbed her temples. "Michael, it's 9 pm, you don't need to wear sunglasses in doors and at night. Guys, we're going to be late if we keep stalling."

Halfway through her can, Mercedes stopped, sputtering and coughing. "Rachel! You totally bailed on us and didn't even touch your disgusting drink."

"Why thank you, Mercedes. Now that I know it's disgusting, I don't need to drink it."

"Wait, hold up," said Kurt. "Why are we leaving now? It's way too early, and who goes to a club at 9?"

"Responsible, punctual people!"

"Fine. Just let me help Mike find his 2-dollar glasses that _I _bought for him. You don't want to know what I had to do to get something so cheap off that shady street vendor."

Actually, Rachel did kind of want to know, but Kurt had already gone after Mike who was searching in the dishwasher of all places. She turned back to an annoyed looking Mercedes and tried to placate the girl with a smile that didn't work. When that became awkward, Rachel turned to Puck who was struggling to finish his drink with great difficulty. Slightly alarmed that there were no puke buckets lying around, she glanced away from Puck and did a run through of her Bushwick apartment for one, but noticed that something…or some people...were still missing.

"Where are Santana and Quinn?"

"Still in the bathroom," Kurt told her from behind the refrigerator door.

Rachel really didn't want to deal with them, but if she didn't then no one else will. She liked to think they were all friends now, but it's hard to gauge the friendship meter for people you haven't seen in months. In Quinn's case, half a year, because despite the Metro passes and sparse email exchanges, there's never been any free time or even reason for them to visit each other until now. As soon as summer began, Rachel had booked herself a workshop in New York and Quinn had disappeared to her sister's place in Florida.

If she hadn't mass emailed everyone to visit New York before New Years Eve, then she doubt she would have seen Quinn any time in 2012.

She hesitated at the halfway opened door, but then remembered that this was her home so there was no need for her to ask permission to come in. Her two former classmates stood in front of the mirror, dressed in skintight, knee-length dresses and matching pumps. Quinn was applying her eyeliner while Santana retouched her lipstick, a sight that hit Rachel with a sense of nostalgia.

They paid her no attention, but Rachel was anything but deterred. "Ladies, as much as I cherish a thorough makeup routine, it's time for us to head out."

Quinn capped her liner and did a quick scan of Rachel's outfit. "You're going out like that?"

"What's wro - no, never mind. I quite like my outfit, thank you very much. Kurt - a Vogue intern may I remind you - picked it out himself, and although his taste may sometimes be too eccentric for the common person, I trust him."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, and a smirk. "Who are you trying to convince?"

"Don't listen to her," Santana told Rachel. "I think you looking smokin' hot, Berry. Sort of like a tiny, Jewish mini-me doused in whore makeup."

Heat rose to Rachel's cheeks as she pressed her lips together and turned away on her heels. They were just teasing her, she told herself; they were all friends now, and friends did that sort of thing. Santana complimenting her - albeit rudely - was already a step up from high school. And Quinn, well, Rachel knew Quinn well enough to know Quinn always said one thing, meant another, and then did something else while coming up with a 4th option. Quinn was pretty much bipolar, so Rachel wasn't going to take her words to heart.

* * *

It's a lot of teeth, sloppy, and wet, and it's enough to shake Rachel inside out. A tongue twirls inside of her mouth and Rachel just about falls over on legs made of jello. She twists her hand into Quinn's hair and yanks harshly at the blonde strains. Quinn hisses into her mouth, but doesn't fight it. She yanks again until they disconnect and they're left clinging for air inside an empty hotel hallway.

Quinn's eyes are completely dark and searching hers. Rachel notes the way Quinn has a tight hold on her hips, their pelvises thrust intimately together, how perfect they fit. She notes the gulp that claims Quinn's throat, the buzz that's inside her own ears, the thump of someone's heartbeat.

She leans her forehead against Quinn's and opens her mouth. Nothing comes out, because she doesn't have words for what she's feeling or thinking. An hour ago she was just trying to get Quinn to like her, but now it seems like she's trying to get Quinn to fuck her.

What is even going on?

* * *

"Ok, so where are we headed?" asked Kurt, excitedly clinging to Rachel's arms.

"To Stix," said Puck. "So get your fake IDs out, ladies and gents and Hummel."

"I hope this work. You guys might past with your four o' clock shadows and makeup, but with my baby doll face and Rachel's affinity for Mary Janes and headbands, we both don't look a day over 18."

Rachel pouted, protectively touching her headband, but they all continued on. Puck, Mike, and Mercedes walked ahead of her and Kurt, with Santana and Quinn bringing up the rear. Rachel wasn't thrilled having to be in front of the latter two, because every time she turned around they would stop whispering to stare back at her with mirth. When she faced forward, they resumed whatever it was they were whispering, most likely gossiping about her beautiful headbands. She pushed them out of her concerns when they reached the club, which had a line wrapped around the entire building.

"See, aren't you glad that I suggested we head out early?" she boasted.

Everyone groaned. No one cared for Rachel's suggestion. Rachel still smiled and squeezed at Kurt's arms. She turned back around again and caught Quinn's eyes, but this time there was none of the I'm-secretly-making-fun-of-you look. Quinn just watched her with eyes shining darkly from under a poor light, until an infamous eyebrow rose and shook Rachel from her gaze.

Rachel turned back around and felt her neck and cheek heat up. She could _feel_ Quinn still staring at the back of her head, but she wasn't going to give Quinn the satisfaction of responding. Tonight, for some odd reason, it felt like Quinn had set out to antagonize her just like the good ol' high school days. Right after everyone left the apartment, Quinn had made another comment on her new New York inspired outfit, and how all the black was suitable for the after party of a funeral. Rachel merely huffed and paid her no mind, because honestly, that was a lazy jab even for Quinn Fabray.

In the club, they all managed to stick together and found a booth next to the bar. Puck and Mike offered to buy everyone the first round, while Santana and Kurt were quick to slither to the dance floor. That left Rachel, Mercedes, and Quinn to themselves, and the air was thick with tension because Mercedes spotted someone with a dress exactly like hers and that was never a good thing.

"Look at that skinny bitch," Mercedes seethed. "See, this was a problem when I was in LA. I'm surrounded by skinny girls who have half my talent, brains and charisma, but since they look better in a skirt, idiots don't hesitate to push me off a cliff just to flock to them."

Rachel nodded. "I completely understand." That earned a curious look from both Mercedes and Quinn, so she explained, "What I meant was that, I completely understand your problem with superficiality. We all know my voice and talent is one of a kind, but of course casting directors would want someone with a smaller nose, or a less ethnic appearance, or even blonde. Like Quinn, for instance."

"Thanks," Quinn said, dryly.

"I didn't mean –"

"Doesn't Puck have a girlfriend?" Quinn asked, directing her question at Mercedes.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because he's looking awfully crummy with that bartender."

"Oh my god, really? I've actually met his girlfriend, and she's really sweet and nice too. Why do guys alway ruin a good thing?"

Rachel sunk back in her seat, picking at her purse and silently listening in as Mercedes and Quinn bounce the conversation back and forth. She didn't want to sit there like a mute while they ignore her, but she didn't want to go off and dance by herself since Kurt and Santana had disappeared. At least those two were having fun, because she knew Kurt was still trying his hardest to get over Blaine and Santana with Brittany.

Rachel wanted that too – to have fun – but it's hard to do that when she kept getting shoved aside by a certain blonde.

* * *

Quinn pushes her into the hotel room and kicks the door shut. A mouth immediately finds her neck, and Quinn doesn't waste time sucking, licking, biting, and bruising the sensitive flesh there. Rachel gasps into the air, gripping onto the back of Quinn's dress for support. There's no excuse for how badly she just wants Quinn closer, to burrow deep inside of her.

Her breath hitches when Quinn pushes her up against the wall, a hand on her clothed breast, and knocks them into a table in the process. The pain is pushed aside because all she can feel is the pressure of Quinn's lips on her neck, then her collarbone, then along her jaw before it reaches her mouth. There's no teasing or playing around when their tongues brush against teach other hurriedly.

Rachel pushes her hips forward at the same time as Quinn thrusts into her, but their stupid dresses prevent any real friction to happen. Her nipple aches deliciously under Quinn's palm and she wishes they were nude already. She feels Quinn's fingers gripping the outside of her thigh before they move to ride the bottom of her skirt up.

It's still not enough.

"Take it off." Quinn's voice is husky, seeping with sex, unheard of to Rachel and she just about explodes again.

* * *

There were a lot more people than they had anticipated, and Rachel was glad she never had any inclination to go out to clubs like most people her age. She couldn't imagine doing this every weekend when she could be snuggled in with her zebra printed Snuggie, a cup of hot chocolate, and a play script instead. The taste of alcohol was revolting, so she was still nourishing her first glass while most of her friends were finishing their second.

Puck, who had promised that he was only flirting with the bartender for free drinks, volunteered to be her dancing partner but a horrible one at it. He's never had any rhythm, and his pelvis thrusts were only entertaining for the first two or three times. The person Rachel really wanted to dance with, the one who could help her shine and stand out from the inebriated crowd, was stolen away from her by none another than Quinn. _What a bi – witch_, Rachel thought, watching enviously as Mike got down with Quinn a few bodies away.

The pair had eyes on them; some people were jealous, some fascinated, others aroused, and Rachel found herself in a confusing state of being all three. Mike was an extraordinary great dancer, and Quinn wasn't so bad herself, but it wasn't Mike who had captured Rachel's attention. It wasn't Mike with the flustered face, wild hair, and heaving, sweaty chest that Rachel's eyes were stuck too.

"I'll be right back," Rachel mumbled, pulling away from Puck's stiffed form. He should really go see a masseuse.

She bumped into Mercedes and Santana on her way to the booth to cool off, and both girls looked just as annoyed as she felt. "What happened?" she asked them.

"Straight people," Santana sneered, walking past her.

Mercedes' scowl turned into a smile. "What she meant was, that guy over there…" she pointed to the bar, where a bulky man in a tight muscle shirt and way too much hair gel raised a glass their way, "…Ugh, that jerk, wearing a _wedding ring_, had the gulls to offer me a drink and his hotel room."

"He propositioned you?" Rachel squealed.

"I know, right? Out of all the hot available men here, it just had to be some married sleazebag. He even threw in a, 'I'm a producer,' line, as if that made him any better."

"How rude!"

"Ok, so Santana has no game," said Kurt, stepping in between them. "She's been dancing around this hot redhead the entire night, and every time I tell her to go for it, she keeps drinking more instead of you know, actually doing something about it."

Rachel glanced back to the dance floor, surprised to see Quinn no longer with Mike but with Santana, the two of them in a heated conversation with a lot of hand gestures. Santana looked more annoyed with everything coming out of Quinn's mouth, and Rachel wondered if they're going to be dealing with a weepy, angry drunk Santana tonight. She sighed, because Santana swore she was going to have fun and not wallow in self-pity.

She was about to turn back to Mercedes and Kurt's conversation when Quinn's eyes suddenly shifted and connected with hers. Even under the club's poor lighting and with countless bodies moving between them, Rachel knew they were staring at each other. Again.

Rachel throat suddenly felt dry. She continued to meet Quinn's unyielding gaze, testing the waters to see how long they can keep up this contest without breaking. She wasn't going to look away first – no – whatever game Quinn was playing at, it's hers to lose. That didn't mean Rachel wasn't reacting to it _inwardly_ because she was suddenly as hot as a furnace and like, did somebody sucked out all the air in here?

It felt like centuries, but Quinn's locked gaze never wavered, despite Santana mouthing off near her ear. The heat from Rachel's chest began to burn lower and lower, until it hit a part of her that she in no way had ever associated with Quinn Fabray. Feeling dizzy, Rachel forced herself to look away.

Quinn wins, again.

God, why is Rachel Berry always a sucker for evil people with pretty faces?

* * *

It's too fast and urgent, but Rachel's too swept up in the sensation to complain. Quinn doesn't hesitate to carelessly tug and jerk and pull Rachel's expensive dress off her and then turn around and do the same to herself.

Rachel pouts slightly when her headband is manhandled next.

Then it hits Rachel that they're making out in the dark. She can barely see Quinn and that just won't do. While Quinn's kicking her heels off, Rachel goes for the lights with shaky hands. During the time it takes for her to reach the lamp and flip it on, the situation fully dawns on her. She's naked. She's about to have sex – from the looks of it, mind-numbingly good sex – with her high school rival and archenemy.

And tentative friend?

A rush of nervous excitement shoots through her. She suddenly feels drunk, but it's definitely not on alcohol. Her head feels light, there's shortness of breath, her heart rate is off the charts, and if she dies from this her obituary better mention her last moments were during the throes of passion. She's shaken away from her thoughts when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her middle, and Quinn's devious mouth is back on the nape of her neck.

Rachel allows herself to drown in all her emotions.

"You're thinking very loudly," Quinn mumbles, biting down on her skin. "Don't think too much. This doesn't mean anything."

It's another crash of emotion. A burn this time, but Rachel gulps it down. "I wasn't expecting anything," she shoots back.

Rough hands cup her breasts then fingers tweak at her nipples. She can feel Quinn smiling against her skin, or is it a sneer? Slowly, they walk backwards with Quinn assaulting her neck and breasts until Rachel feels gravity shift and she's suddenly thrown on the bed. She yelps and twists her head to glare at Quinn, but any anger she has over being thrown around like a rag doll gets shut down as soon as Quinn descends on her.

* * *

"What exactly is in a – excuse my French – _Adios Motherfucker_?"

The bartender, a pretty tatted-up woman with a nose piercing, gave her a once over before asking, "Are you sure you're old enough to be in here, darling? How about some ID."

"Honestly." Rachel scoffed, but still handed over her fake ID anyways. _Barbra Liza Idina Brice, _age 21 as of two months ago. Rachel beamed with a dazzling smile when the bartender looked back and forth between her and the ID.

"You have four first names?" the bartender asked, reluctantly handing over the ID. A costumer is a costumer, her boss would say.

"My fathers couldn't decide," said Rachel. "Going back to the drink, can I please have the _Adios_, but hold the _Motherfucker_? I don't plan to be overly inebriated tonight. It's my friends first night in the city and I'm playing host."

"Fascinating."

"Make that two _Adios Motherfucker_," came a strange voice besides Rachel's ear. "On me."

Rachel jumped from her stool, ready to use her 2 years of Krav Maga training and the lethal drink in her hand to decimate the rough body invading her personal space. Her eyes widened as a sweaty looking man shamelessly scanned her body up and down. His arm hung on the back of her stool and he was very close to her face, killing her with his foul breath.

"Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of buying my own drinks," Rachel told him.

"No, no, it's on me," he said, flashing a smile. "That's what guys are supposed to do here, right? Offer pretty girls drinks?"

_To take advantage and go home with,_ Rachel finished in her head, but hey, she wasn't going to completely turn down a free drink. It's not like she gets offered them every day. "Well, I guess I'll take the free drink then! Thank you so very much, kind sir."

"No problem." He made no move to drop his hand from the back of her seat, nor any move to scoot in closer. He seemed nice and polite enough, at least, and well, it's not everyday Rachel Berry got hit on by older men at clubs, but then it's not everyday Rachel Berry goes out to a club to get hit on by older men.

"I'm David," he told her, and held out a hand.

Rachel shook it, albeit reluctantly. "Ra – _Barbra_. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too." He took his sweet time with the handshake before whispering close to her ear. "I saw you with your friends earlier, so don't think I'm trying to sneak you out or take advantage of you. I'm not like that. I just thought – you know you're so beautiful, there are a lot of guys eying you right now, and I thought that I could help you out so some creep don't think you're alone and for the taking."

The bartender, who had been hovering by with their drinks, snickered. She placed the drinks in front of them, and Rachel was the first to take a sip. She nearly spat the liquid out when it burned down her throat, because holy hell, the lady did not heed her plea about less alcohol! Could she sue for this?

"Thank you, again," Rachel said, face twisted in a grimace. She moved to stand up (or slide down in her case, since her toes couldn't reach the floor) from her seat, but David still had his arm around her chair, trapping her between it and the counter. "I really should head back to my friends."

"Are you sure?" he asked, dipping his head closer "How about a little dance? I did buy you that drink after all and well, it'll send a message to those creeps to leave you alone for the rest of the night."

Rachel stood still, her grip on the glass tightened. She knew she should head back to her booth, but she didn't want to create a ruckus with this man. This was supposed to be her night of fun, and starting an argument over a stupid dance was…

"I…I guess," Rachel said quietly. She stole a glance at the bartender who was watching the exchange with a blank face.

David reached for her hand, but then abruptly jerked forward in his seat instead. "What the hell –"

"Hey dude," said Puck, leaning against the counter on David's other side. "You're looking good in those jeans. How about I get you a drink?"

Rachel fought a smile, because _what? "_Hello, Noah."

Puck tipped his head at her in hello, but turned his eyes back on David. "So how about it hot stuff, want a little somethin' somethin' in your mouth?"

"How about no," David said, annoyed by the sudden intrusion of Puck being in his face.

"Aw why not? I saw you from across the room. We made eye-contact so that must mean you want to fuck."

"Dude, what the fuck."

"How about two drinks and a free dance with the Puckinator? You wanna know why they call me a Puckinator?" He obscenely grabbed his crotch and began to pelvis thrust.

"Get off, man!"

"We can do that later, babe." Puck winked before his face suddenly turned serious. "Yeah, not so fun when you're the one getting hit on by a dick, right?"

"You know what, forget this," David shot Puck and Rachel a dirty look before he stormed off.

Rachel grabbed Puck into a big hug. "Oh, my god, thank you so much!"

"No problem, babe. Quinn thought you looked really uncomfortable talking to him, so she told me to deal with it."

She froze in his arms. "Wait – what? Quinn told you to save me?"

"And save her you did," the bartender leaned across the counter and gave Puck a look that screamed lecherous. "That guy was a total creep, but since he didn't physically touch her I'm not really allowed to do anything. Thank god you came when you did."

Rachel knew the infamous Puck smirk when she saw it. She also knew Puck was in his most stable relationship ever, and quite possibly his longest, and he'll be a fool to ruin it. "Noah, lets go back to our friends." She pulled on his shirt, but he didn't budge.

"Yeah, you go first," he told her, eyes on the bartender. "I just uh – let me just talk to this lady for a bit. About a drink mix."

"About a drink mix."

"About a drink mix."

Rachel didn't believe him for a second. Unfortunately, she was also too occupied with thoughts about Quinn sending in white knights to be too concerned about Puck's adulterous ways. She couldn't figure out why Quinn kept flipping back and forth between ignoring her, insulting her, staring at her, and now protecting her. She thought they were friends, or at least reached some sort of truce by the end of senior year. She just wanted Quinn to acknowledge her.

She stabbed a thumb at Puck's chest, getting him to finally look at her. "I'm going to go. I'll leave you alone, but…" She didn't need to finish the sentence. All it took was a one glance over at the bartender for Puck to get it. He nodded curtly and rolled his eyes as if _she_ was being an idiot.

* * *

There are a lot of hands in places that Rachel would not have condoned on a sober day. She doesn't fight it – the fingernails dragging down her inner thighs, the way deceivingly soft hands rake across her skin, the fingertips that dip in between her teeth for her to bite on. Debauchery is the first word she thinks of. Soaked is the next, because she's so wet and swollen she feels ready to burst every time her clit is lucky enough to touch something.

"Quinn," she pleads, thrashing against the mouth that clasps round her nipple. She arches into Quinn's touch, trying to rub her lower half against Quinn's stomach, but the blonde does not let up. Her legs get shoved aside and spread wide open whenever she tries to wrap them around Quinn's waist. Her attempt at maneuvering Quinn to where she wants her is feeble at best and wasted at worst. Quinn seems to be in her own world, on her own term.

"I need –" Rachel stumbles, crying out when Quinn not so nicely bits down the bruised, brown peak. "– _God! _I need you to – mmmm – go lower, please."

Quinn lets go of her nipple with a wet pop, and hands that were pushing down her legs disappear. Rachel feels nothing but coldness all around her, and the only thing she can do is whine. She blinks up at a peach-faced Quinn with her blonde hair strewn in every direction and her small chest heaving deliciously with exertion. The sight sends a shiver down Rachel's spine, and God if she wasn't already soaking…

Rachel grips the bed sheets to stop herself from latching onto Quinn and coming off as _too_ desperate. "What –"

"Don't tell me what to do." Quinn's buttery sweet voice is matched with a fake smile. She cups Rachel's neck and presses down gently, not enough to throw up red flags and scare Rachel away, but enough to scream authority. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it my way, understand?"

Rachel wants to nod but she doesn't want to move the hand at her throat. She hums instead, tilting her lower body upward for Quinn to do as she pleases.

* * *

Rachel somehow managed to finish through rest of her _Adios Motherfucker, _grimacing every time she tasted the liquor_. _The affect was stronger than she bargained for, making her feel light-headed and jittery all at once. She wanted to go out and dance and throw her hands in the air, but she was stuck in the booth listening to the worst pick-up ever. She side-eyed Santana who was in the middle of telling a not so flattering story to some supermodel-worthy blonde woman beside her.

"She told me, 'We either see Beiber in concert or you're sleeping on the floor tonight.' I told her, 'Wow, what a _Sophie's Choice_,' all sarcastically and shit, you know? But then she was like, 'In your case, it'll be more like _Single Ladies_,' and I was like, 'Damn, ok, Beiber it is.'"

The supermodel-worthy woman must have thought the same as Rachel, because she began to awkwardly slide out of her seat. "Thank you for the drinks, Samantha."

"Santana!"

"Sorry, Santana, but um…I think I should go…thank you again and good luck with you know, everything."

Santana planked her forehead on the table as soon as the blonde left. Rachel was torn between laughing at her or offering a supporting pat on the back. She went with the pat because she remembered they were all sleeping under the same roof and the chances of getting smothered with a pillow were very high.

"I know I don't have much experience in the dating scene, but I'm not sure sharing stories about your ex is a great way to break the ice," Rachel commented, hesitantly rubbing Santana's shoulder.

Santana shrugged her hand off and stood up in her seat. "You're right, you don't have much experience. I'm going to get another drink."

Santana stumbled and knocked a chair – or two, or three – over, leaving Rachel alone momentarily before Kurt scooted in and took over the vacant spot. "Ugh, not one gay guy in this club!" he said, throwing his hands up. "You'd think seeing all these well dressed men with perfectly groomed facial hair meant that someone was bound to be on my team, but apparently it's just a New York thing."

"That's unfortunate for you," Rachel lulled, wrapping an arm around Kurt. Then under her breath she added derisively, "but fortunate for Quinn."

"Huh?"

"Would you like another drink?"

"No, god no! I just want to dance and meet a guy who thinks I'm cute and just – Christ, Rachel, why is it so hard?"

"Didn't you have fun dancing with Mike?"

"Yeah, I did, and he's a fabulous dancer but it's not like I can back my thing up if you know what I mean."

"Speaking of backing things up," Puck slipped in, taking a seat on Rachel's other side. "Did you guys see Mercedes with that creepy producer guy? I was going to step in to save Chocolate Mama, but she gave me an evil look and shooed me away."

Rachel frowned. "I thought she didn't want anything to do with him."

"She has been complaining about getting attention," Kurt said. "Maybe she gave up and just grabbed onto the first thing that gave it to her?"

Puck wiggled his brows, and Rachel already knew what he was going to say. "I would have given it to her if I wasn't already a one woman man with morals. Anyways, I'm not here to gossip like little, old grandmas. Hey Jewbabe, care to give me a twenty?"

"Uh, why?"

"Because I'm out of cash and I think it's unfair for me to buy so many drinks and not tip the bartender."

"Puck…"

"What? People working in public services deserve gratitude too, you know!"

Kurt gasped. "How do you even know what gratitude means?"

"Shut up. Just because I almost failed high school doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Look guys, I'm just being friendly! I'm not going to do anything stupid and risk my relationship. I love my future baby mama without the drama."

"Aw, that's adorable in a very twisted and questionable way." Turning to Rachel, Kurt frowned. "See, I want some douchebag to almost cheat on his partner with _me._ Why is everyone willing to cheat on everyone but with me?"

Not knowing what to say to that, Rachel just shrugged. At the mention of cheaters, Rachel's thoughts swam over to Quinn. Quinn Fabray – whom she hadn't seen in a while except for a few glances here and there. Quinn Fabray – who's been the center of many attention ever since she arrived at the club, even Rachel's. Quinn Fabray – who ordered Puck to help Rachel even though she had no reason to.

Like a beautiful blonde knight in shining armor.

Rachel reached over and snatched up whatever was in Puck's hand and gulped it down. She nearly choked and spat some of it back out. "Oh my god, Puck, what is this?"

"A manly drink," Puck said, sighing at Rachel's lack of cool factor. "Which you totally just backwashed. How about handing over that 20 bucks to make it up to me?"

Whatever, Rachel could afford to lose 20 bucks. With enough alcohol in her system, she decided to go and find Quinn. To do what - Rachel hadn't exactly formed any concrete idea yet but she will once she sees the blonde face to face!

It took a while, after she stopped to pull a drunk Santana away from a woman who was clearly not interested, and another stop she made to spy on Mercedes with the married so-called record producer, and one more stop to threaten Puck's bartender with her eyes, but she did finally managed to find Quinn.

She snuck up behind Quinn and tapped her on the shoulder. At Quinn's eyebrow raise, she happily shouted above the music. "Thank you for saving me."

Quinn looked at Rachel as if trying to remember who she was before turning back to her dance partner. Rachel, thinking Quinn was misreading her, walked around and squeezed herself in between Quinn and said dance partner.

"Did you hear what I said?" Rachel shouted. "Thank! You! For! Saving! Me!"

"I didn't do anything," Quinn shouted back. "I'm in the middle of something here, Rachel. Can you please leave? God, you're annoying."

Rachel blanched, but quickly saved herself with a forced smile. "How about we dance together? We can – um – what do they say? Break it down? I haven't seen much of you today and we're supposed to be spending time together, remember?"

"Really, Rachel? Now's not the time."

"Come on, just one dance. You've dance with everyone but me!"

Quinn's current partner, a short brunette man way below Quinn's league, coughed uncomfortably. "I'll be over there if you want to have a good time."

He walked away despite Quinn's protest. It took 3 seconds max, but Rachel could see the sudden transformation from stoic Quinn to Ice Queen McKinley Quinn Fabray. "Look what you did. Do you have to ruin _everything_ that I enjoy? Why didn't you just call up your Ken doll man friend if you're so desperate for attention?"

Rachel couldn't muster a response when Quinn moved to presumably chase after the guy who couldn't be any shorter than even Rachel or uglier than even...than even Jacob Ben Isreal if he tried. Even as everyone pushed and slithered around her, she stayed glued to her spot, processing everything that just happened. She felt like she'd just been dismissed with a metaphorically slap in the face.

She only came back to herself when someone had the audacity to do the sprinkler dance move in front of her before going into the robot. She quickly moved away because she didn't want anyone to think she associated with _that_.

* * *

Rachel's not going to ask where Quinn learned how to fuck women. She's not at all – nope – not at all. She's just going to cherish it like she does any solo and embrace it like her God given rights.

"Fuck, Quinn, fuck, fuck," she curses, albeit quietly to herself because she's still not comfortable being so vulgar out-loud.

Rachel's hanging by the edge of the bed, gripping tightly onto Quinn's hair and holding her in place. Every time she looks down between her legs, she sees Quinn's tongue twirling around her clit while two slender fingers piston in and out of her pussy. It had started out with Rachel using the bed sheets at anchors, because all Quinn did was tease every inch of her _except_ that one spot. Then when Quinn ran the flat of her tongue through Rachel's entire heat before latching onto her clit, the bed sheets became her own breasts. Eventually, that wasn't enough because Quinn started eating her out with vigor and that only build Rachel's need to shove herself into Quinn's mouth. So now her hands were glued to Quinn's messy blonde hair otherwise she might float off the face of this bed.

She knows holding Quinn's head and forcing her wouldn't be a good idea. Quinn seems to be on a power trip to have things her way, and Rachel keeps pushing the limit every time she grinds herself upward while pushing Quinn's head down. But to hell with it. Rachel wants her orgasm and in the words of – god, she can't believe she's saying this – Santana Lopez, she wants it now.

With all the pain and suffering Quinn had her go through tonight, she thinks she deserves it.

Except, she doesn't get it.

She blinks blearily into the ceiling, not able to fully comprehend what just happened. Her orgasm had been building and churning just below her stomach until it was suddenly snatched away. Again.

"Quinn!" she whines, and almost throws a tantrum on the bed in protest as the blonde gets up to her knees and wipes at her glistening mouth.

With an uncharacteristic giggle, Quinn begins to nudge Rachel's leg and roll her onto her stomach. "Stop complaining and get on your hands and knees."

"_Oh_."

* * *

"Have any of you seen Quinn?" Rachel asked the tiny group now crowded at the booth. Santana, Mercedes, and Kurt were nursing their drinks, with Santana also furiously stabbing at her phone while Mercedes looked bored with the world. Kurt appeared solemn and tiny beside them, staring off into the distance.

"No," Kurt said with a sigh.

"Her big butt is probably off getting attention from all the guys," Mercedes added.

Santana gave a short laugh. "Don't think she'll be interested unless they were a man twice her age going through a midlife crisis and enjoys porking a MILF with daddy issues."

Kurt sighed again. "And you wonder why you don't get any action here."

"Shut up, twinkle toes. Maybe if you'd smiled more, you'd get attention from guys who thinks it'll be _amazing_ to get a blowjob from a boy who doesn't have any teeth. Have I told you lately that you look like you don't have any teeth every time you smile? It's revolting."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "How original and insulting," he said sarcastically.

"Guys," Rachel cut in before Santana could toss a drink in Kurt's face. "Why are you all sitting here and fighting each other? I thought we were supposed to be out there having a good time!"

"Is that what you're doing?" Santana looked at her questionably. "Who the hell asks for Quinn when they want to have a good time?"

"Why are you acting so prissy?" Mercedes asked. "Put your cellphone down, your drink down, stop phone-tagging Brittany, and maybe _you'll_ have a good time, Santana."

"Yeah, because I'm totally going to take advice from a girl who's only action so far was due to _me_ – a lesbian – turning down a perv. Did you have fun with my sloppy seconds?"

"You know what, I think I'm going to just start rubbing on everyone and see who sticks around," said Kurt, sliding away from Santana and Mercedes heated stare down. "Otherwise, I might end up so depressed I'll break my rule and call Blaine."

"Oh, no Kurt, you were doing so well," Rachel said. "Please don't break your rule because of tonight. I think everyone just needs to calm down. I'll get you another drink and we can just dance the night away. Yes, yes, that's what we'll do. We'll dance."

Mercedes shook her head, turning away from Santana. "That's exactly what we need, more alcohol for _that_ crazy girl over there."

Santana flipped Mercedes the middle finger, but flashed Rachel a normal smile. "Get me two Tequila shots, shorty, and I'll pretend to have a good time."

"Don't bother with me," Mercedes said, moving out of her seat. "I'm going back to the _'perv'_ because at least he appreciates me for who I am and I don't feel like shoving a barrel through my mouth every time he opens his mouth."

"He's also married ya moron!" Santana shouted after her.

Rachel quickly backed away, because she did _not_ want to spend another minute at that table. She squeezed between two bodies hyperventilating against each other and was near the bar when a flash of a familiar red dress and blonde hair caught her attention. She changed course and figured Santana can wait for her drinks because Rachel Berry does not cater to anyone.

She followed Quinn into a brightly lit restroom with two other occupants and a little old bathroom lady dispensing soap and handing out paper towels. The place wasn't ideal for the type of talk Rachel wanted to have, but at least it's a lot quieter in here and they did have a history with restrooms.

Rachel thank god for liquid courage.

"I wish to talk to you," she started, tapping Quinn on the shoulder as the girl waited in line for a stall.

Quinn abruptly spun around. Her features were sharp, eyebrows pressed together, but her cheeks were bright pink and her hair frizzy in a cute way, the looks so contrasting that Rachel couldn't help but find her…cute. Enduringly cute.

"Jesus, Rachel, you startled me."

"I apologize for that. In any case, we still need to talk."

"And you want to do that here?" Quinn turned back around. "Save it."

No! Quinn Fabray did not get to turn her back on Rachel Berry!

Rachel nudged her shoulder back around. "Yes, we're going to have a talk and we're going to have a talk here. We need to start by my asking why you've been incredibly rude to me all this evening."

Quinn glanced at the shoulder that Rachel had nudged before steeling her eyes and staring Rachel down. "Wow, am I the one trying to have a heart to heart with a person who just wants to pee? Can't this wait until later?"

"You can't act like we're not friends, Quinn, then turn around and…and have Puck go and save me. You can't insult my looks then spend the rest of the night staring at me. I let you into my home!"

"I'm sorry, but are you girls in line for the –"

"Yes!" – "No!" Quinn and Rachel shouted at the poor woman who dared interfered. The woman, with her palms up in surrender, nodded and scattered away. Rachel pulled Quinn out of the line and over to a corner, as if that could possibly give them any more privacy.

"Rachel, what is your problem?"

"My problem, Quinn Fabray, is that I thought we were past high school and have all matured. But alas, it appears that I'm wrong and it's two steps forward and one step back when it comes to us."

Quinn took a step closer until they were toe-to-toe, and seethed through her teeth. "_Us? _Rachel, there is no us. The best we could do and have ever done is tolerate each other for the sakes of our real friends."

"You know that's a –"

"And you call this maturity and growing up?" Quinn laughed humorlessly, and for a moment Rachel could smell the alcohol on her breath. So maybe having this discussion at their current state wasn't such a smart idea. "We're underage kids who've snuck into a club with fake IDs to get our kicks. High school was only 6 months ago. You think playing dress up with Kurt's advice and drowning yourself in raccoon makeup for some upperclassman guy makes you mature? Sorry to break it to you, Rachel, but no, it doesn't."

Rachel thought that was the end of it, until Quinn smacked her purse on the sink and towered over her with another bout of anger. "I thought when you decided to dump Finn and focus on your school, that you've finally _matured_ and grew up into the special butterfly that we all know you are. But lo and behold, you did nothing but turned into an even bigger diva and once again, chased the nearest guy that gave you the time of day."

Rachel inhaled deeply at Quinn's sudden outburst. She thought they were on the right track, especially since it wasn't so long ago that Quinn had bought her _train tickets_ to see each other, that they were emailing pleasant letters back and forth. It seemed as though she was wrong, and Quinn thought differently and wasn't going to hesitate to burst the already thin bubble they were in.

"Oh, yeah?" Rachel began, lips pressed in a firm line before spitting out, "Like you're so much better than me, right? Like your recent rendezvous with your professor or – or your newfound interest in faux feminism and sororities with girls I'm certain you talk badly about behind their backs makes you so much better than me?"

Rachel pressed her palm against Quinn's chest and gently pushed her back when the other girl made a move to storm away. She hissed in Quinn's face. "No, you don't get to walk away from me again. You know what I think, Quinn? I think you're just jealous of me because of my success with NYADA. That everyone we knew in Glee is happy to call me up and ask if they can visit us in New York, while the only one who even cares enough to bother you is Santana."

"Oh, this is priceless." Quinn's jaw clenched, unclenched, before she bared her teeth and dipped her head to match Rachel's height. "You think I'm jealous of you? Of the poor loser who's only friend in high school was her stuff animal, and now she's finally managed to have two best friends to rub together? Don't kid yourself, Rachel."

"Tell me that you're actually happy," Rachel challenged. She knew she was crossing the line every time she edged Quinn on, but she's sick and tired of playing doormat to people who do nothing but walk all over her. Quinn being one of the worst offenders. "Tell me that you wake up, happy to be at Yale, that you can look at yourself and be proud of who you are."

"God, you're such a bad Lifetime movie," Quinn snapped back. "I'm not doing this with you in a dingy restroom."

"Please continue," – both girls turned to the voice of the soap dispenser lady, her iPhone out and pointed at them – "My Vine followers are loving this!"

Quinn let out a sound between a whine and a canary being eaten by a cat. She shoulder shoved pass Rachel, smacked the phone out of the lady's hand, and banged the door shut on her way out. Feeling deflated and not in the mood anymore for clubbing, Rachel was slower to storm out but she made sure to give a disappointed headshake at the soap dispensing lady.

* * *

Quinn is relentless, pulling on her hair and slamming two fingers into her all at once. It shouldn't turn Rachel on as much as it does, but it _does_ and she's screaming into her pillow and pushing herself back. Yeah, she really needs to ask Quinn where she learned to do this because you don't turn from a straight, good Christian girl into a Sapphic love machine over night. The fact that Quinn has such control over her drives Rachel both crazy and scarily hormonal.

She's only been with three guys; Finn, Brody, and a couple of times with Jesse St. James whenever he visited New York, so it's not like she has much experience in the sexual intercourse area. This thing with Quinn though, something that will only last for a few hours and for one night, easily surpasses them all without a doubt in her mind.

The thought makes her bit on her lip and moan deeper into the pillow.

Quinn's hand leaves her hair, but Rachel's taken for surprise when fingers scrape down her backside before it lands a good smack on her ass. She stills for a moment, too shocked to let out a noise. Quinn must sense her shock because she also stops her thrusting to ask, "Was that – was that ok?"

_If you keep talking to me in that sexed up voice you can do whatever you want_, Rachel wants to say, but instead she chooses, "Ye – yes, it's fine. Caught me by surprise, that's all."

Quinn rubs at Rachel's bottom, soothing out any lingering pain, before she resumes fucking two wet fingers in and out of Rachel at a frantic pace. Her thrusts began to increase, and so does the volume in Rachel's scream. She alternates between smacking Rachel's ass or palming it, and it's enough to send Rachel tipping over the edge.

Rachel's walls squeeze and spasms around Quinn's fingers. The pillow muffles Rachel's cries, but her body can't hide the shudders of pleasure. All she wants to do is get back to her regular breathing so she can pass out, but then she feels Quinn's weight over her back then Quinn's kissing her shoulder blades. Warmth spreads throughout her entire body, and she knows she can't just blame it all on her orgasmic bliss.

With strength she didn't know she had, she flips them over and crawls over Quinn's body. The blonde's too tired to physically resist, but she does tell Rachel to stop. "You don't need to do anything. I'm fine, Rachel."

"I might be new to this whole sex thing, but I'm pretty sure etiquette says it's rude if I don't reciprocate."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're being ridiculous," Rachel presses, before taking Quinn's wrists and holding it above their heads. She settles in between Quinn's leg and nibbles on the blonde's jaw. "Let me do this for you, please."

Finally, Quinn relents.

* * *

Rachel watched Quinn from afar, annoyed at how the girl was inside a three-man circle laughing it up as if she hadn't just been fighting with her _friend_ minutes ago. Rachel couldn't fathom what Quinn's problem was – was she jealous at Rachel's success? Jealous that Rachel loved her school minus her annoying dance teacher? Jealous that Rachel not only still have Finn's heart, but also share a healthy sexual relation with an attractive upperclassman with enviable skin?

Rachel should be out there right now having fun with everyone else, but instead she's cooped up in her corner mulling over Quinn Fabray's moods. What a disastrous Friday night!

"Rachel!"

Rachel looked up, her angry mask falling quickly when she sees Mike side glide his way to the booth, making her crack a smile. She took the shot he kindly offered, because at this point she might as well drown her misery away in horrible alcohol. If Santana could do it and not die, so could Rachel.

"Hey, turn that frown upside down," Mike said.

"I'm sorry, it hasn't been such a great night."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't want to burden you with my troubles, Michael, but thank you."

"Are you –"

"You should go back out and have fun," Rachel continued. "It seems like you're the only person who is genuinely having a good time tonight. All I wanted was to throw a good reunion gathering since we haven't seen each other in months, but it looks like everyone would rather be off in their own world. I don't know what I did wrong when all I wanted to do was uplift everyone's spirit, especially Kurt and Santana's."

"Well, maybe –"

"And Quinn! I thought we've all changed since high school, but all Quinn's done is proven me wrong. She's still so _mean_, and vindictive, and a liar! One minute she pretends that we're friends, and then next she's giving me the cold-shoulder. Am I only good enough for her when she needs someone to make her feel better? I feel like the only time she ever listens to me is when she's about to make another stupid mistake."

"I think –"

"You think that's it?" A sudden realization dawned on her. "Do you think she's making a big mistake now and her sudden 180 degree personality switch is a silent cry for help?"

Mike, his mouth still opened, didn't bother with a response that time. It's only at Rachel's silence and her expectant face did he realized she wanted him to say something. "I uh – I think maybe, you're right? I don't know," he chuckled, scratching his head. "She really did seem excited to come here when we spoke earlier. She couldn't stop talking about how long it's been since she's seen you, so I can't explain the attitude change but I can say it _did_ sound like she missed you."

"You're right," Rachel declared, nudging Mike away so she could slip out of the booth. "There's something bothering her, and it's my job to get to the bottom of it. I've always been the one in high school to never give up on Quinn, I'm not about to start now."

"Wait, what just happened?"

This time, Rachel didn't hesitate to drag Quinn away from her adoring fans. She led them out a side exit and cat hissed at a man smoking a blunt and a couple making out by a dumpster until they all scrambled away. Quinn tried ripping her wrist out from Rachel's grip but Rachel, using force she didn't know she had, held on with determination.

"Oh my god," Quinn cried. "What the hell is your problem this time? Why did you just kidnap me out here? Why do you always kidnap me?"

"Are you in danger, Quinn? Is someone threatening your life? Are you pregnant again? Is the professor pressuring you to do something you don't want to do? Not like having an illicit affair with a student is in any way a condonable act to begin with. We really need to talk about that some other time."

"What are you talking about? This is crazy even for you."

Frustrated, Rachel let go of Quinn to smack her fist against the brick wall. Stupid move. She yelped out in pain and quickly examined her bruised knuckles. It came as a surprise when another pair of hands clasped around her bruised one, and an even more frustrated Quinn was breathing roughly through her noise and cursing everything that was Rachel.

"Look at what you did," Quinn muttered, rubbing at Rachel's knuckles. Quinn bit at her lip and frowned, looking awfully concerned for someone who said they only tolerated each other.

"I don't care about my hand," Rachel lied, because her hand did hurt like a mothertrucker. "I care about you. I hate the fact that you keep shutting me out as if I personally offended you. I don't want to care, but I do. I do, I do, and I do and it drives me _insane_."

"And you think it doesn't drive _me_ insane?" Quinn stopped her soothing rub but still head onto Rachel's hand. "I don't want to care about you either, Rachel. I don't want to know about your damned Finn problems or your Brody problems or how _happy_ you are at NYADA. I don't want to care that the only reason I'm here right now is because of some stupid reunion you've concocted in your head, and not because _you_ want me to be here."

"What are you – of course I want you here! That's the purpose of a reunion!"

Quinn fought back a growl before tossing her head back, physically looking pained. "No! Don't you get it? I don't want you to call me because you have no one else to confide in. I don't want you to invite me over because hey, since Mercedes and Mike and whoever else are already here, why not her too? I don't want you to come to me just because I'm acting like a bitch and you have this innate desire to cure everyone's problems, but because you want to on your own."

Rachel's lower lip began to tremble as Quinn words jabbed her piece by piece. "I don't – I'm not understanding."

"God, you're so frustrating!"

The retort on Rachel's lip was cut off as Quinn cupped her cheeks and slammed their mouths together. Rachel remembered Finn once saying kissing Quinn Fabray was like fireworks, but the boy must be on crack because this was far and beyond any lame chemical reaction. This was a galaxy exploding. Ok, maybe that was a chemical reaction too, but galaxies sounded a _lot_ better than just fireworks. She really needed to google some poems about this.

"Are you seriously thinking while we're kissing?" Quinn asked, breaking the kiss to rest their foreheads together.

"How did you know?"

"You're staring off into nothing and you have that deep thought face."

Shyly, yet boldly all at once, Rachel looked down at their feet. "I'm thinking about were we can go to...continue this."

"I'm not like, in love with you or anything," Quinn quickly said, tightening her hold on Rachel's face. "But I...but I can't seem to want to do anything but this."

"I know what you mean."

* * *

It's so much slower than anything they've done so far that Rachel wonders if it's still even the same night or if she's been hallucinating this entire thing. She's incredibly nervous, due to the whole lack of experience thing, but fortunately she had been well prepared for this. She thanks all the Youtube instructional videos she watched in preparation for her 'experimentation' stage in college, never thinking _Quinn Fabray_ would be at the reciprocating end.

She's also fortunate that she has a healthy masturbation routine, otherwise she wouldn't have such intimate knowledge on how to touch a woman as she does now.

Even though Quinn takes a bit longer than her, prefers more stimuli on her clit than penetration, and moves around a _lot_, Rachel thinks she can master this.

"You're so beautiful," she whispers airily, watching Quinn's face scrunch up every time she manages to brush against a good spot. She leans down and kisses the side of Quinn's mouth then nibbles her way down a strong jaw. She always admired Quinn's bone structure, but to now be able to devour it is a whole other feeling. She couldn't get enough of Quinn's skin, or her scent, or how soft _everything _was.

Her stomach has no choice but to flutter when Quinn's walls squeezes her fingers, or when Quinn's heels dig themselves into her thigh. She has to remind herself over and over again that _she's_ the one making Quinn Fabray go crazy on a hotel bed, that _she's_ the one causing all the noises to come out of Quinn Fabray's perfect mouth.

Quinn releases a moan so girly that it leaves no room for Rachel to deny that she really just had sex with a girl, and she enjoyed it so much more than she ever did with boys. That's not to say she's leaning more on one side or another – it's just to say she's definitely leaning in Quinn's favor. On Quinn. Over Quinn. Underneath Quinn.

"This doesn't mean anything."

Rachel's suddenly ripped back to reality, her eyelids fluttering at Quinn's words. One moment she's fantasizing about early morning coffee runs with Quinn Fabray, the next moment she wants to put a state, a country, a universe in between her and Quinn. "Of course not," she says, matching Quinn's monotone.

"It was a drunken mistake."

"Yes, it was. Even though the amount of liquor I had would have left my body by now given the time of my last drink, and by your words and actions you sound entirely lucid, it was all just one big, drunken mistake."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

It's a challenge, because they can't seem to exist in the same vicinity without challenging each other. Rachel wonders if this is a good idea, but then who is she if not one to stick to her horrible ideas until the very end.

* * *

The thing Mike hated the most after every club outing is the going home part. Somehow, they always ended up losing at least one person. It's a mess keeping track of people and their whereabouts, especially if you're the designated driver – which Mike wasn't, but he might as well be since he's the only one who hadn't drank more than one drink.

The first person he managed to find right before closing time was Santana, and that's only because Santana caused a mess by spitting angry Spanish at one of the bouncer's faces. He knew a Lima Heights Adjacent tantrum when he saw one, so before the bouncers could toss her out of her ass, he gathered her up in his arms and carried her outside.

"Santana, calm down! It's just me!"

"I don't know a Me! Get off me you crazy asshole, stop! Stop! I'm being –"

"It's Mike Chang!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

Outside on the sidewalk, he let her go when he was sure she wasn't going to drop kick him anytime soon. He felt horrible seeing her tear-stained face, smudged makeup, and wild crazy-eyes, because it wasn't so long ago that he had to comfort his ex with the exact same look. Breakups were hard, and if Mike weren't so good-looking and awesome, he'd have experienced the pain of being dumped himself.

"Are you ok to stay out here by yourself?" he asked. "I'm just going to head back inside and get the others. The club's about to close and…"

Mike trailed off, getting distracted by a very familiar high-pitched voice. Not far off was Kurt by the stoplight, crying into his phone.

"I know it's very late," Kurt said, struggling to wipe away his snot, "but I can't stop thinking about you, Blaine. I've tried the serial-dating thing, the blind date thing, and even the one-night stand thing, but I can't stop comparing them to you. I love you so much, baby, and despite all the cheating and lies –"

"Dammit, Kurt, no!" Mike snatched the phone away from him and quickly ended the call. He shook his head disappointedly. "You were supposed to be doing everything _but_ this, remember?"

"I know! But I can't help it. How can you mend a broken heart?"

Mike could sense a song bubbling up inside of Kurt, but he's saved from it by the sound of Santana's wail. They both stared wide-eyed at Santana, one in embarrassment and other in understanding, as she cried out, "BRITTAAANY!" into the night. Someone else cried out, "Shut the fuck up!" back at her.

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose because this was _not_ how the night was supposed to go. "This is getting way out of hand. Kurt, do you know where the others are?"

Kurt sniffed pathetically. "Mercedes left with that married producer guy."

"What!"

"Don't worry, she gave me his business card just in case he tried to pull a Ted Bundy on her."

"Here I was, thinking Mercedes was the responsible one in all this. Ok, what about Puck?"

"He left with the bartender."

"What! Dammit, you guys! Just one night – one night without drama." He was afraid to ask the next questions. "What about Rachel and Quinn? Please don't tell me they went off with some more strangers."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know what happened to them, but Rachel did text me not to worry about her. Quinn probably did leave with some guy – she was mighty popular tonight. Unlike poor, forever alone Kurt Hummel…"

Mike uttered at a _tsk_ at Kurt's tears. "I turned my head for just one second and this happens. Alright, how about I just get you and Santana home?"

Kurt agreed without a fight. Santana was more difficult to calm down and drag home. Quinn answered Mike's text asking if she's alright with a very vague response of 'I'm good. Mind your business.' Mercedes and Puck ignored their texts from him. Rachel had the decency not to ignore his text and even gave him a call back.

"Where are you?" he asked her, keeping one eye on a depressed looking Kurt and another on a softly sobbing Santana.

There was silence on Rachel's end until she answered in her regular cheerful voice. "I ran into my NYADA classmates at the club. Don't worry Mike, I know them very well and I know they won't do anything sketchy. I'm safe."

"O,h well, that's good to hear. Do you want me to check up on you later?"

"Sure. Just give me a call."

"Thank god you're being safe. Everyone here seems to be making one stupid decision after another. All I wanted to do was dance."

"You know, on a regular day I would find your mature, take-charge attitude a turn on and insist we team up for a duet, but I really have to get going. Sh – he, er, _they're_ coming back…"

"Alright, call me if you need me. And try not to do anything stupid."

There's another long pause before Rachel said, "You know I won't. Goodnight!"


	2. Sleepover

**AN: **Hi! I've read some of the comments on Quinn being too bitchy, and that was part of my worry, that she'll come off as too pilot-episode Quinn without any redeeming factor. I've tried to tame it down and will attempt to explain her in future chapters. On that note, this story is in the same 'verse as the 1st chapter. If things/scenes seem like they're missing, it's because I'll probably address it in a future prompt. Thank you for reading, and all feedback is appreciated!

**Summary: **Sleepover. Four times Quinn tried to "sleep" over, and one time Quinn actually did.

* * *

1.

There was too much on Rachel's plate. A low budget student film, two essays on stage management, auditions left and right, and a temp job where she had to stand on the side of the street dressed as a giant banana for a grocery store.

She had no time for a personal life, which meant Brody was put on hiatus and Finn was all but forgotten. Rachel didn't even want to think about Quinn. Whatever that was lasted for exactly one night before Quinn woke up, freaked out, and made her promised not to mention it ever again. Rachel, who usually wore her heart on her sleeve, didn't give Quinn any satisfaction by crying over it.

She's a big girl now. She didn't need a man or woman. If Quinn wanted to play that game, then so can she.

"…and that is why I am turning a new leaf," she wrote on her tumblr without mentioning Quinn or any of her suitors by name, "Rachel Berry is going to embrace the full experience of college. Fathers, if you are reading my page, do know that I will be completely responsible and surround myself with people whom I trust. I will not be gettin' giggy wit it without being safe. I know many may want these goodies, but my cookies will be staying in the jar unless you are a _very_ special person. To all my followers and fans, may the Berry be with you. Goodnight *Goldstar."

She sent off her post then debated between watching Mean Girls for acting notes or spy on the creepy neighbor that kept stealing Kurt's homemade doormats. She opted for Mean Girls and was ready to settle in with her DVD and a notepad when their front door bang.

Who could that be? Kurt was out for the night with his new friend and she hadn't seen Brody in weeks. Grabbing a spatula just in case, Rachel pressed against the door and demanded to know who it was.

"It's me."

She wasted no time sliding the metal contraption open to greet Quinn Fabray. It was only halfway opened when Quinn stormed in, black leather jacket over a white sundress and all, and asked her if Kurt was home.

"No, it's just me," Rachel said, worried because Quinn looked angry over something. Did she read her Tumblr post? "Did you read my Tumblr post?"

Quinn turned on her, eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"I made a –"

"Forget it."

Rachel was in the midst of explaining when Quinn's lips were on her. She was pushed back against the bookshelf then edged upward on her tiptoes, as if Quinn wanted to lift her up. Quinn's mouth was demanding and hungry, but it soon became awkward and not the least bit sexy since Quinn didn't even seem like she wanted Rachel to reciprocate, just take.

Remembering the spatula in her hand, she whacked Quinn on the side of her head.

"What the hell, Rachel," Quinn said, letting her go.

Rachel pushed at her and raised the spatula between them. "No, you are _not_ going to Christian Grey me, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn ran her teeth across her lower lip, looking both startled and on the break of something. Rachel watched the pained expression crossed her features before Quinn steeled everything.

"I'm…I'm sorry," Quinn said, almost too softly for Rachel to hear.

So she asked to hear it again.

"I said I'm sorry." Quinn's lip set in a firm line, settling them into a painful silence when she didn't say anything else.

Rachel wasn't going to break it. Nope. Not at all. She crossed her arms and met Quinn's dull hazel eyes with her own brown ones. If anything, it was _Quinn_ that entered her home and _Quinn_ that assaulted her and now it's up to _Quinn_ to set things straight.

Sensing Rachel's resolve, Quinn let out a harsh breath then backed up until she was leaning against the back of Rachel's couch. "I'm not good at this, ok? I'm sorry for the other night. You know I can't help but be a bitch, like Puck can't help but make disgusting comments at every turn, or Finn with saying stupid things all the time." She laughed at herself, idly playing with her fingers. "Believe it or not, I become an even bigger bitch when I'm drunk. That's just how I am when I don't get things my way."

Rachel relaxed against the bookshelf, but she wasn't letting go of her spatula. "So, you're sorry for being a bitch when you should have done the sensible thing, like talk to me?"

Quinn nodded.

"Is that it?"

Quinn let out another harsh breath. "I don't know exactly what I'm feeling, but I do know I enjoyed what we did. I've tried to ignore it for the past week but all I keep thinking about is just how good you felt. Pathetic, right?"

Rachel gulped, because she's never heard Quinn talk like that before. Sure, Quinn wasn't going to divulge into her inner most working, but it's a start. Rachel wasn't going to start singing Quinn's praises anytime soon either. She's not even sure if she liked Quinn half the time.

She took in Quinn's entire appearance and was hit by how attractive the blonde was. As shallow as it sounded, what Quinn lacked in personality, she made up for in looks. Having Quinn look at her with puppy dog eyes was almost enough for Rachel to forgive her.

"To be honest…" She moved away from the shelf, inching closer to a resigned Quinn, "…I can't stop thinking about it either."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I don't think I've ever done anything like _that_ before. We don't have to talk right now. We can just…"

Quinn didn't taste like alcohol this time. Just cherry lip balm and whatever minty gum she must have been chewing on. Even as Quinn tried to take over the kiss, Rachel stole the upper hand and slowed them down. She fisted her hand into Quinn's jacket – they're going to have a long talk about faux leather – and stripped it off.

In the midst of feeling Quinn's hand on her butt, Rachel completely forgot about the second party that lived with her. She ripped her mouth away from Quinn's when the metal door began to clank and slid open. There was a reasonable, non-suspicious distance between them by the time Kurt and another male entered the building.

"Quinn?" Kurt said, looking between her and Rachel. "What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Quinn said curtly.

Rachel laughed awkwardly then held up her spatula. "To eat. She came here so I can cook for her."

"You're going to eat at 9 pm?" Kurt made a face. "Well, good luck with that and I pray for your metabolism. This is my friend Adam by the way. Adam, this is Quinn. She used to be the head cheerleader at my high school and tormented me for a while."

Rachel inwardly groaned. Whatever she and Quinn were planning to do for the night was officially tossed out the window.

* * *

2.

She and Quinn didn't put a label on it, because that was so 1980s and Rachel was fortunate enough not be born in that era. Instead of labeling it, they went with the flow. That also meant trying to keep it a secret from all their friends and family since Quinn didn't feel comfortable with her sexuality and Rachel wanted to focus on her career more than anything. So, it's safe to say it's a pain in the ass whenever they tried to sex in a bed.

Their only refuge was Quinn's dorm since she had a single bedroom, but after three or four boring trips Rachel began complaining about being the only one always having to commute.

"It's not my fault you have two roommates and curtains instead of walls," Quinn reasoned. "And I never used to visit so much before, it'll be strange if I started visiting now."

Two roommates because Rachel and Kurt had somehow unknowingly picked up Santana Lopez. One day, Santana was visiting just for fun, then the next day she was visiting for a mini-vacation, which turned into visiting to get away from the stress of Kentucky and Lima, until finally she just stayed and never left. Initially, Rachel and Kurt were both too scared to shoo her away.

Rachel sulked at Quinn's response, and then snapped at Quinn's finger when the blonde playfully poked at her lips. "I just think we should set up a schedule if we're going to be doing _this _on a regular basis. It's not fair that I have to give up most of my weekend just so we can copulate."

"Copulate? Seriously." Quinn chuckled, pressing her head deeper into the pillow. She stretched out her body, enjoying Rachel's puffy comforters and blankets a little too much. She blamed it on having a single mattress and barely any room to move around in her single dorm.

"What do you want to do?" Rachel asked, sneaking a look at Quinn's smooth stomach when she stretched.

Rachel was already highlighting through her notes for Miming 101 when Quinn surprise visited her. If it'd been any other person she would have continued her daily ritual because breaking routine was just bad work ethics, but this was Quinn. _They_ had their own ritual to abide by, and it's been almost two weeks since she last saw Quinn and for now, the snoozing blonde was her priority.

Snoozing blonde?

"Hey," Rachel nudged Quinn's shoulder, jolting her awake. "I take it you're tired?"

Quinn rubbed at her bleary eyes, pulling herself into a sitting position. "What? No? Of course not. I just got here." The statement is negated by a yawn she tried to hide behind her hand.

Rachel couldn't help but find it adorably cute. "Are you sure? It's late anyways. I don't know why you'd want to sit on a train for almost 2 hours after you just got off from school. We have the whole weekend."

Quinn whined. "Rachel, please do not lecture me right now." She straddled Rachel's lower stomach, trying to prove that she was anything but tired "Why waste time? Who knows how long Kurt and Santana's going to be out. We still haven't christened your loft yet."

Who could deny that offer? Rachel surely wouldn't. Ever since she and Quinn started this _thing_, she'd cease all contact with Brody. Her body suddenly underwent a hormonal transformation, constantly craving something that used to be an afterthought in her 18 years of life. In simpler words, she was horny all day, every day, and the only person available to satisfy her appetite was Quinn Fabray.

Yeah, she still couldn't wrap her mind around that.

"So...should I ask what you want to do again?" Rachel set her homework aside and placed her hands on Quinn's bare thighs. Quinn's dress for the day had been incredibly short and if Rachel moved it a few inches higher she'd see what sort of lingerie Quinn had picked for this occasion.

"You know what I want to do," Quinn ghosted over Rachel's lips.

"What?"

"You."

Rachel broke out into a grin and closed the distance between them. She scooted until she was on her back with Quinn undulating smoothly on top of her. Her hands found the nice mounds that there Quinn's butt and gave them a nice squeeze. She never thought she'd be a butt girl until she met Quinn's larger than average white girl behind. Sometimes, Rachel was so gay she startled even herself.

"You feel so good."

Rachel could only nod in response, because her lips would die if they're apart from Quinn's skin for too long. She latched and suckled onto Quinn's pulse point, grinding Quinn deeper into her. Quinn, who was usually dominant and in control, moaned wantonly – music to Rachel's ears. Her movements and sounds urged Rachel on and on and on...

Until Quinn gradually slowed down into a standstill. Quinn's body went limp, her weight crushing down on Rachel. Panic set in, because Quinn had a good 20 pounds on her.

"Um, Quinn?" She whispered against a warm neck.

No response.

Quinn was still breathing at least. Thank god, because Rachel didn't know how she could explain _that_ to Santana and Kurt. She drew in a breath, gathered up her strength, and shoved the other girl off her. The action startled the blonde and had her tumbling halfway off the bed.

"Earthquake?" Quinn asked, frantically crawling back on the bed.

Rachel smiled at her confused look. "No, doofus, you fell asleep."

"I did not -" Another yawn, longer this time. "- Ok, maybe I'm a little tired."

"We can just sleep, you know. We don't_ need_ to do anything."

They really didn't. Surprisingly, Rachel found that it was easy to be around Quinn when Quinn wasn't being mean or standoffish. She had signed up for sex and just sex, but somehow got a decent enough friend in the process. Quinn was getting easier to talk to, their emails had turned into text messages, and they were able to spend a whole day together without arguing. It's a work in process, and one with a lot of effort, but Rachel could file their relationship under the "Hopeful" section.

That didn't mean there weren't times when Rachel wondered if Quinn was only putting up with her for the sex. Quinn did once say they only tolerated each other because of their friends, and now the word 'friends' could easily be replaced by the words 'booty-call.'

"That is," Rachel said, "Unless you _want_ to do something. Then we can do that too."

Rachel's stint of trepidation was squashed when Quinn jutted her lower lip out but did not insist on them going further. Quinn shimmied under the covers, still in her dress because Santana and Kurt could bust in at any moment and questions will be raised. It was already strange enough that she slept in Rachel's bed, and Rachel now willingly visited her in New Haven. Their close friends act could only be so deceiving.

"You know we probably won't be able to do anything for the rest of the weekend, right?" Quinn told her. "Kurt and Santana will be all up in our grill."

Quinn blushed at Rachel's sudden burst of laughter. "Grill?"

"Shut up, I'm not all here right now."

"Go to sleep."

* * *

3.

Things were still odd sometimes; especially when they're on a date-but-not-really-a-date because the last thing they wanted was a relationship and especially not one with each other. Quinn still found Rachel annoying 80% of the time and Rachel still trusted Jesse St James more than she'd ever trust Quinn, and Jesse was the one who once backstabbed and egged her. Still, they're finding themselves having stir-fry at Rachel's loft over a bottle of Beringer and surrounded by the soothing voice of Sade – because of the soothing-ness of her soothing voice, not because it was romantic or anything.

"I like your hair like that," Rachel said, bashing her eyelashes.

Quinn swallowed her food and smiled. "Thanks."

Rachel waited approximately one minute before adding, "And your jeans. You don't usually wear jeans. They're nice."

Quinn smiled again, stuffing her mouth with more vegetables. There were no Thanks that time.

Rachel's own smile dropped as she scrutinized the person in front of her. Quinn, who focused too much on her food in Rachel's opinion, was oblivious to any hot glares sent her way. Rachel waited another long minute before she said without any enthusiasm, "Your makeup really brings out the green in your eyes. It's hypnotizing."

Quinn had the decency this time to reply with, "Thank you," but it still wasn't enough. Huffing, Rachel placed her chopsticks aside and tried for a dramatic exit, except her sweater got caught on her chair and she had to save face by skipping the rest of the way to the sink. Face burning, she focused on refilling her wine glass and not on the sound of clicking heels behind her.

Arms wrapped around her middle and a pair of soft lips pressed against the spot behind her ear. "Maybe the wine's getting to me," Quinn said, "but for a second I swore you just did your signature Rachel Berry storm-out. All 3 feet across the kitchen."

"Maybe I did."

Quinn chuckled, the vibration tickling Rachel's neck. "Hmmm, should I ask what's wrong?"

"Why do you care?" Rachel fumed, crossing her arms over Quinn's. She leaned back, not because she enjoyed being wrapped up in Quinn's embrace, but because her feet were killing her and resting against Quinn was comfortable. Unfortunately.

"I don't really care -" Quinn held on tightly when Rachel tried to wiggle away, "- _but_ since I don't want us fighting when we should be making good use of our time, tell me what's bothering you."

"You know, I should be offended that the only reason why you asked is because you want in my pants."

"Rachel, lets be honest, knowing you it's probably some overblown drama you've concocted in your head."

"Quinn!"

"Tell me what's wrong, drama queen."

"Fine. I just think that when it comes to this relationship -"

"Friends with benefits."

"-_Relationship,_ I've put in twice the effort as you but have only received half the benefits."

"Excuse me?"

"You see all this? _I_ did this. I even cooked chicken breast for you."

"But they were Gerdein vegan-"

"Meant to mimic real chicken breasts! That kills my soul a little when I'm reminded of the live chickens being slaughtered." Rachel faked a sniff and turned around in Quinn's arms. She gripped onto Quinn's shoulders. "I'm not asking for you to go out of your way and make all my dreams come true. I'm just asking for you to compliment me back when I compliment you. For you to notice the little things, like how I bought your favorite wine and went through a traumatic experience to cook your favorite food."

A warm smile spread across Quinn's cheeks. Rachel's not used to Quinn smiling like that, or looking at her like that, or even paying full attention to her like that. Every time Quinn would set aside her mask to reveal a little bit of what she's thinking, Rachel would get a small, distant hope that things will be better for them.

"Everything's perfect," Quinn said, after much deliberation. "The effort you've put into this is sort of - it overwhelms me, but I do appreciate it." Quinn tipped forward to nuzzle Rachel's cheeks. "I appreciate you, and how good you look tonight."

Rachel wrapped her arms tightly around Quinn's neck, eliminating any distance between them. "You're not just saying that because I told you to?"

"Nope. How about we go out next time you're in New Haven? It'll be my treat and you can pick the place."

There was no way Rachel was going to say no to that. Her own heart was doing the picking for her. She didn't question what Quinn's offer could mean and squeezed the girl to her.

Quinn laughed at Rachel's enthusiasm. She began to nibble on Rachel's ear then press soft kisses down a tan neck before settling her forehead on Rachel's shoulder. They stood there just hugging; the act was a lot more intimate than what Rachel was familiar with, but she didn't complain. It didn't last long anyways – Quinn must have found it boring because new kisses were being dotted along her neck and shoulders. Their lips met in a natural embrace, switching the atmosphere from something light and comforting to something thick and heavy. They stumbled around the kitchen, trying to reach a surface to lie on and knocking things off in the process.

It wasn't until an odd smell and the sound of a wailing siren did they break their kiss.

"Oh my god Quinn, my antique table!"

The tablecloth was on fire due to a fallen candle. Quinn pushed Rachel away from her, accidentally sending the girl closer to the fire. Rachel tossed her an angry look before snatching up the closest thing that could put the fire out. In her haste, the closest thing happened to be the frying pan that was still on the stove.

Quinn noticed it before she did. "No! Rachel, there's still oil –"

An hour later they stood in front of the Bushwick building trying to explain to the firefighters what exactly happened without outing themselves. Santana and Kurt were outside with them, both looking anything but amused over what they were called home to. By the time everything was settled, Quinn was too tired to do anything, and Rachel was still angry at Quinn for sacrificing her to the fire to allow Quinn to do anything.

There went another night.

* * *

4.

Quinn knew this was bound to happen sooner or later, she just had high hopes that their roles would have been switched when it did happen. So maybe telling Rachel she had a date that one time wasn't exactly a smart idea. Telling Rachel that other time that she missed being with a man also wasn't a good idea.

She just wanted to see Rachel's reaction.

A part of her liked what they were doing and wanted to keep things that way, but another part of her rebelled and fought against her common sense. Her brain told her to stay away from Rachel Berry and there goes her heart, making things a lot more complicated than it should've been. Why couldn't she just stay emotionally detached from the arrangement they had set up?

It was so much easier when she was dating guys like Finn and Puck. They were easier to manipulate, bend at her will, and control. Even her professor would've gotten down to his knees if Quinn so much as snapped her fingers. But Rachel was another sort of beast, and Quinn hated not having the dominant hand. She hated not knowing what Rachel was thinking or feeling half the time, and even though the girl's emotions were written all over her face, she still held back just as good as Quinn did.

It didn't come as a surprise to Quinn when she had pushed Rachel too far and Rachel ignored her for a good week. What did surprise Quinn was that she found out through the annoying gossipy grapevine known as Tina Cohen-Chang that Rachel was dating some guy named Terry at her workplace.

At first she thought it was just a stupid, "I'm getting back at you," phase, because Rachel could be just as vindictive as the next person, but then one date turned into six and suddenly Rachel started acting like a real girlfriend. It annoyed Quinn to no end that she was getting pushed aside for a guy – for _anyone_.

She made it her mission to get Rachel back, at least for a night, when Kurt's current boyfriend Elliot threw an end of the semester party and gave her an excuse to visit New York. Spotting Rachel, the shortest person in the party, was difficult, but fortunately Rachel had a voice that boomed and carried when she spoke, something that Quinn used to find annoying until recently (ugh, she hated _that_ too).

Terry, being the leech that he was, stood by Rachel's side. Quinn gave him an order he couldn't refuse, and as soon as he left to get them drinks she dragged Rachel away to Elliot's fire escape. As they were leaving, she caught Kurt's disappointed glare and Santana's own, "What the fuck are you doing, Fabray?" look, but it's not like she lived to pleased them. They had issues over her and Rachel's relationship when they found out, but Quinn made them sworn not to say anything or interfere. She had enough dirt on them to start world war 3 if they even tried.

"Hey, what's up?" Rachel asked, fixing a strain of hair that fell across Quinn's forehead.

Quinn stepped into Rachel's space, looping her arms around a slender waist. She had missed the hard warmth of Rachel's body, the scent that went along with it, and the feel of being touched by Rachel. It used to drive her crazy to hear Rachel's constant yapping, but now she didn't think she could go a day without hearing the other girl's voice.

"Nothing, I just wanted to get you alone."

Rachel's smile didn't meet her eyes. Quinn knew a real Rachel Berry smile and that was definitely not a real Rachel Berry smile. She held onto Rachel tighter, because she had a hunch Rachel might pull away any second now.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" she asked.

"I thought you were staying with us tonight."

Quinn licked at her lips, lowering her voice. "No, I mean sleep in your bed tonight. With you."

"I don't…I don't think that's a good idea."

Quinn knew that was coming, so she bit down the instinct to snap a snarky reply regarding Rachel or her boyfriend. That wouldn't be beneficial to what she wanted. "I think you wouldn't know what sort of idea it was unless you tried it." She trailed a finger down Rachel's cheeks before cupping it. She momentarily lost her train of thought as she thumbed and smoothed the apple of Rachel's cheek. Rachel's wide brown eyes bore into hers, pushing and pulling and questioning.

"Quinn…"

When was the last time she told Rachel how beautiful she was?

And god, Quinn was starting to see what Finn saw, what Brody, Jesse, Puck, and even that loser Terry saw.

Then it hit her.

She unwrapped herself from Rachel and stepped back. Her chest clenched painfully as she swallowed down the lump in her throat. This was the first time in a long time that she hated herself for some of her decision makings.

"I'll sleep in Kurt's bed tonight," Quinn said, smoothing out the wrinkle on her forehead. "He'll probably want to stay here with Elliot, like I'm sure you'll…you'll want to stay with Terry. I'm sorry I tried to – it won't happen again. You have a boyfriend now, I know. This was a bad idea. I don't really know what I was thinking when I –"

"Quinn, stop." Rachel grabbed onto Quinn's wrist, then buried her other hand into Quinn's hair to keep her from fretting. She leveled Quinn with her concerned gaze before making a rash decision and pecking Quinn softly on the lips.

"I'm going to say this once and only once," Rachel said, "If you want to be with me, then _be_ with me, otherwise I'm not going to play this game anymore. Okay?"

Quinn nodded, strangely placated by Rachel's ultimatum. She allowed Rachel to take her hand and lead her back to the party. Even when she spotted Terry, the envious hatred she usually felt towards him wasn't quite as strong anymore. If anything, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

She wasn't going to get the lady tonight, or the next night, or any night after that as long as her shit wasn't together. It'll take some time, but she liked to believe they have all the time in the world.

* * *

5.

This was a bit nerve wracking, but Quinn was a good actress and an excellent liar, so she put forth a brave face and intertwined her fingers with Rachel under the dining table. She felt a squeeze in return and while it didn't erase her anxiety, it calmed her down.

"So, this is funny as fuck," Santana said from across the table. "This is like some super duper gay triple date. Who would've thunk that this place would turn the straightest dick loving girls into lesbians. You think if we allowed the Westboro Baptist Church to come here it'll convert them too?"

"Before or after they burn us at the stake?" Kurt replied, swirling his mojito.

"We should sing to them," Elliot suggested.

Beside him, Santana's girlfriend Dani finished her cupcake and concurred. "All our voices combined would create a massive double rainbow of awesomeness. They'd be too stunned to even lift their pitchfork."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "How much weed did you smoke?"

Santana smacked his arm. "Leave my boo alone. You know she's right. I get tingles listening to my own voice sometimes. If I wasn't myself, I'd screw myself."

"I think that's called masturbation," Elliot said.

"I think no one asked for your opinion."

"Leave my boo alone," Kurt mimicked, making a yapping gesture with his hand.

"I can't believe you have a band with five lead singers," Quinn spoke up, catching all eyes on her. She sat straight up in her seat. "I don't think it's really a band if only one of you are playing an instrument."

Kurt coughed into his hand, "Wet blanket," then coughed again.

Quinn had a good reply for him, but Rachel lifted their linked hands and kissed her knuckles, rendering Quinn speechless. She was still getting used to it, being a 'couple.' Their friends were also getting used to it, and while most of them were fine with the relationship, Kurt still had doubts about Quinn being Rachel's suitor and Santana could not resist making her snarky remarks now and then.

Being together _together_ was a lot better than Quinn had feared. Her heart was still encased in a protective shield, and she wasn't sure when it'll ever be freed thanks to her insecurities and master ability to self-sabotage, but the shield chipped away with each passing day. The feeling of contentment, constantly wanting and needing someone, being able to be herself and not feel judged, all of that was rare for her. She was almost waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Oh my god, are you inner monologuing?" Santana's voice broke her thoughts. Quinn glared at her and was tempted to throw a breadstick in her face. "What have you done to her, Berry?"

"Monologuing is not a word, Santana," Rachel said calmly, "In any case, I find pensive people extremely attractive."

"How lame."

"I think that's adorable," Dani cooed at the blush forming on Quinn's cheeks. She turned to Santana and giggled. "Hey, wanna go to your room and have romantic sex?"

"Yeah, whatever. I'm sick of all these couples throwing googly eyes at each other."

Kurt turned away from staring deeply into Elliot eyes to roll his own at Santana. "No one is making googly eyes at each other. And ew, ladies, no one needs to know your business."

Quinn turned to Rachel, horror written across her face. "They're not really going to…?" she whispered as Santana and Dani escaped to Santana's bedroom.

Rachel, looking equally horrified, nodded sympathetically.

Ten minutes later, the two couples heard a sound they never want to hear again. They relocated to the living room where they're able to turn the TV up to full volume. Even then, their friends were singers with big vocal boxes, and Santana was evil, so they weren't able to completely escape the sounds of hell. It wasn't long before Elliot got fidgety and turned to Kurt.

"Hey, I think I left something in your bedroom. Want to come and get it with me?"

Quinn mouthed, "Oh my god," to Rachel as the next couple skipped out of the living room. Nobody was being subtle at all. Soon enough, any question of who could hit a higher note – Kurt or Elliot – was answered (it was Elliot). Rachel buried her face in Quinn's neck, muffling both her whine and laughter as someone made a suspicious goat-like sound. When she came back out her face was beet red.

"This is like a horror movie," Quinn said, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, but it's sort of…"

"No, don't say it."

"Babe." Rachel rolled herself on top of Quinn, took one of Quinn's hand, and placed it underneath her shirt and over her bra. "I left something in my bed. Want to come with me and get it?"

"You're not serious are you?"

"Remember how hard it was sometimes to sleep together because we had to keep quiet?"

Quinn squeezed her breast, nodding.

"That's one rule I don't think we have to follow anymore. How about we show them who the _real_ lead singer is?"

"But I'm not even in your band."

"Do not get smart with me, Quinn Fabray. Now wrap me up in your arms and take me to bed."

"Ok, princess. Just FYI, unless you want me to drop you on your ass, we're going to have to walk to your bed."

It's safe to say no one at that loft were able to look at each other in the face for the next month.


	3. Friends with Benefits

**AN: **Once again, same universe as the other chapters. Thank you for reading, and it's been so fun writing for Faberry week. *This takes place right after the 1. in Sleepover, but before the other 4 times. So it's somewhere at the start of their relationship.

**Summary: **Friends with Benefits. They don't really know what they're doing, but it's a better start than what they're used to. The one where Quinn suggests being FWB and Rachel keeps magical things inside her handbag.

* * *

She's more surprised than thrilled when she sees a pair of tan legs leading up to a tight black skirt that leads up to an equally tight and fuzzy, rainbow colored sweater. Quinn has to remind herself that Rachel's face is actually on top of her shoulders and not anywhere near her chest area. She also has to remind herself that just because she's a newly appointed bisexual (maybe lesbian?) does not mean she should start acting like a dude.

Sure, they've already slept together, but so far they've yet to extensively talk about it. Not like there was anything to talk about - they're both single, hot, and the frenemies aspect makes for some great, heated angry sex.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn asks, nudging her glasses up her nose because it's still 7 am in the morning and no one under 21 should ever be awake at that time to do anything.

Unless your name is Rachel Berry.

"Hello, Quinn," Rachel starts with a bright smile, "I'm aware that this is very last minute, so I apologize for the sudden intrusion. As you might know - since you're like, Santana's best friend - Santana has decided to surprise us with her presence. Again. She also decided to explore New York's prosperous and liberal dating scene after realizing that a woman as attractive as her wouldn't need to charm another woman with her words. She just has to sit there and look good and they come to her, or so she tells me. So in conclusion, Santana's having a lot of sex in our loft and while Kurt's lucky to have a place to escape to, I'm not."

Rachel takes a breath, streadying her shaky hands and jumpy feet. "That's why I'm here. And to, of course, also visit you because we haven't seen each other since...the last time we saw each other, and I told myself what sort of person would I be if I wasted Quinn's Metro passes?"

Quinn's eyebrows slowly rises up while Rachel's smile deflates. They spend the next few seconds trading looks, letting the quiet morning of New Haven sink in before Quinn decides to give Rachel a break.

"Come in."

* * *

"I'm not saying she shouldn't have sex, I'm just saying she shouldn't have sex so much. I've read news reports where people have dehydrated and died due to all the rigor."

"Mmmhmmm."

"And! Last week, she asked if I wanted to join her. I thought she meant maybe for coffee or brunch so you can imagine my surprise when Santana told me what she_ really_ wanted to eat. Fortunately, she was kidding."

Quinn smiles as she bounces from one corner to the next inside her tiny dorm, throwing and tossing dirty laundry into a hamper by her bed. She can't believe Rachel's ramblings have been entertaining her for the last 30 minutes. Maybe it's true what they say; people get tamed by the P (aka the vagina, for a less vulgar word). She figures if she begins getting too annoyed by the other girl she can just shove a tongue down her throat to shut her up.

Quinn blinks away that wonderful image (her high school self would be cringing at _that_ thought) and shakes her head in an attempt to fully wake up. She had no plans of getting up at 7 in the morning, but since Rachel's already there lounging on her bed, Quinn might as well join the living.

When the last of her sweats are in the hamper, Quinn ties up whatever is left of her short blonde hair and says, "Have you considered asking her to have sex at the other person's place?"

Rachel plays with the sleeves of her sweater. "Well…I…I've never considered that. That's actually a good idea."

Quinn's lucky, because her mother was willing to chip out a few extra for a single dorm room while Rachel's still learning to share space with Kurt, and by the sound of it, Santana too. That means Rachel's stuck rooming it with a girl who apparently has more sex than, "A porno, Quinn. She has more sex than a porno! And all this time, I thought she had no game!"

One last look around her 12x12 and Quinn deems her room presentable. She drops down on the bed next to Rachel, resting her back to the headboard. Looking down at their clothes, Quinn notices that Rachel is actually the cute looking one, while she looks like she's about to head over and window shop at Walmart dressed in her gray sweats and Yale t-shirt.

That just won't do.

If the person next to her wasn't Rachel and if Rachel hadn't already seen her makeup-less and frumpy during the few times after sex, then Quinn might have felt self-conscious. She's not pass her years of caring yet, even when half the people at her school dress exactly like this outside of the dorms. At least she has the decency to put on a sweatshirt and hide her face behind large sunglasses when she goes out in public like this.

"Let me tell you now that I have absolutely nothing planned today," Quinn says. "So if you enjoy watching me study, we can do that."_Or_ we can have sex, again and again; but Quinn doesn't say that because 1) she isn't that easy and 2) she won't be the first to suggest it.

Rachel nibbles on her lower lip, crossing one of her ridiculously long leg on top of the other. She seems to be thinking what Quinn's thinking, but instead says, "I would rather just sit on this bed with you all day and do nothing than listen to Santana defile my bathroom with her sexual reawakening."

They both shiver at the image.

* * *

"How can you even eat like that? This is very bad for your skin."

"Shhhh."

Quinn slurps up some lose ramen noodles as Rachel sips on some herbal tea that no one in college should be sipping on. Quinn had some once and no one can convince her that it was anything but dried grass sprinkled with toothpaste.

They're in the common room taking up the entire couch while SpongeBob plays absently on the TV screen. The only thing Quinn is really paying attention to at the moment is her ramen breakfast and the feel of Rachel's legs as they're touching her thigh.

Really, no legs should be doing this to her. But she feels hot underneath her shirt and the spot where Rachel's touching burns her leg through her pants. It's really sad and pathetic how just the smallest amount of contact has Quinn going from 0 to 60 in a nano-second. The sex has made her stupid.

"How are you not hungry?" Quinn asks.

"I lost my appetite when I saw Santana's face buried between a blonde that looks suspiciously like Brittany this morning."

Quinn chokes on her food. "Heaven almighty, Rachel." She wipes at her mouth and struggles between laughing and scowling at Rachel. "What has New York done to you?"

Rachel reaches over to finish wiping at Quinn's mouth then taps her lightly on the chin. "What hasn't New York done to me? Just the other day, I nearly cussed out someone who bumped into me. Then the night before I actually told Kurt to shut the front door when he said he ran into Anthony Rapp. Anthony Rapp! Do you know who Anthony Rapp is, Quinn?"

Quinn shakes her head.

Then immediately regrets it when Rachel goes into a spiel about Rent and Broadway and poor film adaptations and why does it turn Quinn on immensely whenever Rachel gets passionate about something? It becomes hard for Quinn to even focus on eating because Rachel gets really into what she's saying, using not only her words but hand gestures and her entire face to convey her feelings about how amazing Anthony Rapp is (although Rach's only seen him in one stage production).

The noodles have already become soggy and cold by the time Rachel's finish. Sponge Bob has turned into some unfunny 3D animated farm show, which Quinn changes just as her suite mate comes home with her own breakfast.

"Ooh, we have guests," Emily, Quinn's hipster-verging-on-dumpster-diving suitemate, calls out.

Rachel isn't one to miss the opportunity to gain a fan, so she jumps to her feet and extends a hand. "My name is Rachel Barbra Berry! You must be Quinn's eccentric, yet warm-hearted and deeply misunderstood cohabitant. Your hair looks…interesting. Quinn never told me you were trying out for a small town…farm girl role."

Emily rakes a hand through her shoulder length hair and blushes beat red. "I um, I'm not trying out for anything –"

"Told you it looks like a mullet," Quinn says while slurping up her noodles.

Rachel shoots her a disapproving look, which Quinn proceeds to ignore. She tries to finish off the rest of her breakfast in peace while Emily and Rachel make small talk about hair and New York hipster looks. They seem to get along well, but that's not surprising since Rachel's inherently weird and Emily's the type to swear she can talk to animals. If Quinn thought she could get away with it, she'd have dump Rachel off on Emily.

Despite not having to pay attention to them anymore, Quinn is still distracted. Not by words, but by the tan, petite hand that is absentmindedly stroking up and down her thigh. Every time the hand reaches Quinn's knees, it squeezes, making it difficult to ignore its presence. Instead of the watching the educational special on animal mating calls, Quinn's gaze is on the hand (manicured, soft, deliciously tan hand) burning up and down her thigh. Rachel isn't even aware of her torturous action.

Quinn swallows a large gulp of salty soup when she feels that familiar ache building just below her stomach. She knows it's inappropriate to feel like this in front of the Animal Planet and with her suitemate a few feet away. She considers subtly moving away, or moving the hand away, or shoving the hand inside her pants and making better use of it. She considers a lot but doesn't do anything because the hand leaves when Rachel gets up to show Emily some stupid shit in her handbag, and Quinn is torn between being relieved and cursing Emily's existence and all of Emily's future generation.

* * *

Rachel makes her practice scales, which is ridiculous because Quinn isn't even singing for anything.

Quinn bets that Rachel can't listen to her sing an entire song off key without throwing some sort of tantrum.

Quinn wins.

* * *

"We should go out and do something productive. I feel like this is impending on my ability to function like a normal human being."

"Rachel, if you think laying around doing nothing is not being a normal human being, then you're not a normal human being."

"What is this? A riddle? Have you gone poetic on me now?"

Quinn tosses a popcorn at Rachel's headband-ed head. She's sitting at her computer desk, laptop opened, while Rachel occupies the bed with music sheets neatly lined up side-by-side on top of the mattress. They're really not doing anything productive at all because Quinn's pretending to study and she knows Rachel has her schoolwork already memorized so there's no point in Rachel re-reading the music sheets.

They both know what they should be doing instead. They both know_ they're_ not going to be the one to initiate it.

Quinn tosses another popcorn at Rachel's head.

Then another one.

Then another one – until this one sticks to Rachel's hair.

Rachel retaliates by tossing Quinn's pillow at her. What was a mini-popcorn toss turns into an all out pillow war completed with battle cries and forts made out of blankets. Someone knocks over Quinn's laptop, another one ends up suffocated under a mattress, and they both get yelled at by Emily to shut the fuck up.

* * *

Exhausted after their 'fight,' they lay tangled up in the sheets with Rachel's head on Quinn's lap and Quinn leaning against the headboard. A cheesy Telenovela plays in the background on a laptop that Rachel conjured from her handbag. Neither of them know Spanish, but the show's so poorly acted and so – _Santana_ – that they can't help but waste two hours on the melodrama.

Quinn runs her fingers through Rachel's chestnut locks, taken by the long, silky strands. She's never done this with a girl or anyone before, unless you counted trying to yank out Santana's weave. Her boyfriend's hair were usually shorter, the longest being Sam's, but he was too self-conscious about his looks to let her mess it up, and she was too suspicious of the squirrel on Puck's head to go near it. With Finn, she'd been too busy fending off his wandering hands to allow her own fingers to roam free.

She's slept with other girls, but she rarely bothered paying attention to their hair when her hands could be elsewhere.

Feeling particularly happy to tease, she trails her fingers down to Rachel's neck, her thumb stroking the soft skin. Rachel shudders beneath her, and it's enough of a green light for Quinn to continue moving her hand down toward Rachel's protruding collarbone. Her fingertips lightly massaged the hollow part between the bone and neck, and she alternates between doing that and messaging across Rachel's neck to her scalp.

"Quinn..."

Rachel's erratic breathing and the way she nudges closer to Quinn during particular touches sends whirlpool of heat to reside in Quinn's lower stomach. She begins to press down harder against Rachel's skin, wishing her nails were longer so that she could leave hints of scratches. She knew that friends - if that's what they even were now, and it's not like Rachel ever finished arguing against Quinn's claims that they weren't friends - didn't do this. Friends, or frenemies, might hug and occasionally cuddle, but they definitely do not stroke or massage each other. They definitely didn't intend to sink their hand inside and down their other friend's shirt to grope a pair of humbly small breasts.

She would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for that darn Emily asking them if they wanted Chinese takeout for lunch.

Rachel, red to the face, labors her breathing before shifting away from Quinn's touch. She rolls out of the bed, subtly readjusting her shirt, and smiles timidly at the equally red-faced blonde.

"I think I'd like some spring rolls, what about you? I remember how much you loved spring rolls last time we ordered Chinese. You know what, how about I get us both spring rolls? Yes, I can do that. I'll get us both spring rolls now."

Quinn barely has the chance to open her mouth by the time Rachel had skipped out of the room.

She doesn't even like spring rolls.

* * *

"These are some amazing spring rolls," Rachel says, wiping her mouth with her own sanitized hand napkins she keeps on inside her handbag at all times. (You never know how dirty some fans might be, Rachel claims).

Quinn and Emily both raise their eyebrows at her, because Rice King rarely has decent enough orange chicken that actually tasted like chicken to go with their dry rice, so passable spring rolls was a shocker. But whatever, Rachel's the only vegan one and spring rolls were the only vegan friendly thing on their menu (everything else was douse in animal grease) so they let her have this one.

Quinn was smart enough to ask Emily to share half of her Kung Pao chicken while she also shares the spring rolls with Rachel.

"Quinn, how's your family destroying meal?"

Quinn nearly chokes on her rice. "Um, what?"

"Your chicken. Do you know how many mothers or fathers that one meal has murdered? Imagine all the baby chicks who've now been orphaned by that."

She doesn't know if Rachel's kidding or not, so she chuckles half-heartedly. Then Rachel gives her the serious face so her chuckle quickly dies out.

"So what's up with this vegan thing?" Emily asks.

Oh dear god no, Quinn wants to say, because suddenly Rachel's entire face lights up like it's Christmas in the middle of Rachel's birthday and Barbra Streisand is there to serenade her.

Quinn gets situated on the floor of her room, because she already knows this will be a long discussion.

At least with Rachel rambling away on the merits and morals of animal slaughter, Quinn can just sink into her own thoughts. She thinks about what her hands had been doing almost an hour ago, how Rachel's skin feels beneath her fingertips, the unmistakable sounds of their breathing escalating, and the way her own heart feels like it's about to melt. She sneaks a look over at Rachel and remembers how flustered the smaller girl was afterwards, and how Rachel can't seem to even make eye-contact with her anymore.

She thinks about their trysts and how quick they were to dismiss it as nothing but the heat of the moment. Ok, how quick _she_ tried to dismiss it as nothing but that. Things became scary for her when anger, the emotion she most commonly associated with Rachel, started being replaced by tolerance, familiarity, and longing. It's not everyday that she went around sleeping with girls she used to bully in high school. Quinn is still trying to process that she's sleeping with girls at all, so no one should blame her for running away.

She's working on it. She thinks they're both working on it. Instead of going back to ignoring each other, she actually tries to respond to Rachel's texts and Rachel actually tries to remember she exists outside of their shared exes and McKinley. It's weird how they can go from not having each other in the other's lives to not being able to pass a day without some sort of contact.

Still, she doesn't want to get sucked into the whirlpool known as Rachel Berry. She saw what it did to Finn and Jesse and even Puck. She briefly met Brody and the boy already looks ready to jump over moons and back again for Rachel. If anything, _Quinn_ is used to bringing all the boys (and girls) to the yard. No matter how magical Rachel's...milkshakes were.

"Were you guys like, best friends in high school?" Emily asks.

Quinn snickers. She glances over at her _best friend_ and sees Rachel smiling ruefully at her before saying, "It was complicated."

Quinn doesn't like the sound of Rachel smoothing out the edges. It brings back nothing but bad memories of her mother, father, and countless of bullshit excuses. "I was a bitch to her," she says bluntly and without any humor.

"Quinn..." Rachel warns before turning to Emily. "What she meant was that we had our differences, but I like to think we're headed for on the right track."

"No, I think we should be honest." Quinn tries to assuage her next few words with a smile. "I bullied her, she tried to steal my boyfriend, she succeeded, I took him back, she went after him, again, and got him, again, and then I smacked her across the face during the middle of junior prom. Senior year we mostly ignored each other except that one time she begged me to attend her wedding to my ex boyfriend, which I was vehemently against, and during my rush there I got hit by a truck. So yeah, our relationship is a bit complicated."

There's silence, until Rachel breaks it with an uneasy chuckle. "Was all that really necessary?"

She holds Rachel's gaze then slowly raises and drops a shoulder. "Yeah, it was. You can see why I have my issues."

Rachel silently scrutinizes Quinn before she gives a barely noticeable nod in understanding. Widening her smile, Quinn turns to Emily and adds, "I also gave up my daughter to Rachel's mom, so we're sort of related in that way."

"Damn," Emily says before biting into her orange chicken.

* * *

"Selfie is not a real word."

"It is as of 2013 according to the Oxford dictionary."

"You forgot to mention it's the Oxford _online_ dictionary. No one takes them seriously. I demand you withdraw your word."

Quinn takes one end of the Scrabble board and flips it upside down. "Oops."

"Quinn!" Rachel squeals, hurriedly trying to fix up the board but to no avail. "I can't believe you would do that after I called you out. That's _cheating_."

"You really couldn't let me have that one, can you?" Quinn rolls over onto her back and uses her forearms as a headrest. She stares up into the dull gray ceiling, silently cursing herself for having Chinese food for lunch. "I always knew playing Scrabble with you would be a nightmare. You've won 3 times out of 3 and you _still _want to beat me?"

"I can't help it that you're a sore loser. Plus, it gives me the tingles knowing I beat Quinn Fabray at things."

"Of course you'd gloat."

Rachel places the Scrabble board neatly back in her handbag. She crawls up next to Quinn and lies on her stomach, using her arms as support. Quinn feels the overwhelming desire to take hold of Rachel's neck and pull her into a kiss. Underneath the initial exasperation she feels toward Rachel's smugness and arrogance, she can't help but also feel that's when Rachel's at her most attractive. Rachel winning them sectionals sophomore year with just her voice and self-assuredness was the pinnacle of that attraction for Quinn, if she was being honest with herself.

"Can I ask you a question, and can you be honest with me without snapping?" Rachel asks.

Quinn hates questions, because that means she'd have to talk and explain herself. She nods anyway, because she knows Rachel won't give up until she gets her way.

"Consider me confuse," Rachel begins, slowly and carefully, "It feels like one moment you hate me then the next we're having…intimate relations. That would imply that you don't hate me. In fact, one could conclude that it means you're attracted to me. So my question is, exactly when did you realize that you wanted to um, sleep with me?"

The question was expected, but that didn't make Quinn all the more comfortable to answer it. She didn't exactly know how much she wanted to sleep with Rachel until they were exchanging kisses in the back alleyway of a stingy club. She furrows her brows, mentally forming an answer that could at least satisfy both of them.

"I don't know, to be honest. But I don't hate you," she stresses. "There are times where you get on my nerves, but that doesn't mean I don't like you, Rachel. You have traits that I admire. You're also a beautiful girl, and I think…I think that's what attracted me to you in the first place. I've always thought you were beautiful since I first laid eyes on you. I only said otherwise in high school because I was an insecure drama queen and you, well, you did try to steal my boyfriend."

Rachel's blush and smile was like a warm pump to Quinn's veins. She had to look away.

"Do you think you were frustrated with me because you wanted me to like you too?" Rachel prods.

Yeah, that was something Quinn isn't going to touch on. She knows Rachel is trying to fish for something, but she just isn't ready to get into that yet. Being into someone base on their superficial looks is a lot different than being into someone on a deeper, emotional level and wanting them to want you at that level too. _  
_

The silence was enough of an answer, so Rachel reaches for another question. "Am I first girl you've slept with? Does this mean you're gay?"

"No, and no," Quinn is quick to respond. She feels Rachel tentatively reach out and rub her stomach. It's such a simple move, but it somehow calms the anxiety she didn't realize she was feeling. With a raggedy clearing of the throat, she continues, "There was…a girl during the summer between junior and senior year, when I was going to my punk phase if you remembered."

Rachel nodded.

"There was also another girl when I first came to Yale. I met her at one of my sorority parties and we sort of had an on and off thing. Then one day she wanted more than what I could give her and I ended it."

Rachel continues to rub her stomach until the hand slips beneath her shirt and touches soft skin. "How was she?"

"What do you mean?"

"Being with her. How was it being with her?"

Quinn didn't quite understand the question until she feels a determined hand cup her breast. Her mouth drops open in a silent surprise, her body pushing into Rachel's hand. "She was…she was good. My first time was learning how to be with a girl, but my second…_she_ taught me how to just be with a body."

"Really? How so?" Rachel whispers hotly against Quinn's ear. She adjusts her position until a leg is nested firmly between Quinn's thighs. Her palm slips underneath the bra then fingers tweak at a hard nipple.

"She taught me how to take my time with people. Where to touch one, what to do to leave one craving. When to go slow and when to go rough."

Quinn swallows just as Rachel begin to apply pressure with her thigh, pushing and rubbing and rocking them against the bed. She feels a hot, wet mouth take her earlobe, asking her to give an example.

"There was this one time where she had me hike up her dress and fuck her inside a study room of a library," Quinn whispers then shudders when Rachel's thigh presses down harder against her aching center. She can feel herself soaking up her panties and through her sweats, and it only gets worst when Rachel's hand slips out from underneath her bra to rub down her stomach. A tiny finger dips into her belly and god, that sends an electric throb all the way down to where she wants Rachel the most.

"Go on," Rachel whispers.

"I thought we were going to get caught because she was making so much noise. _I _was making so much noise. It was the first time I ever did anything like that. My adrenaline was so high."

The hand on her belly moves again, this time to tease the waistband of her sweats. Rachel grinds hard against her, and all Quinn wants to do is stick a hand inside Rachel's panties and feel how wet she must be by now. She groans when Rachel begins to suck on the spot below her ear.

She turns her head to catch Rachel's lips so they can at least taste each other before taking things further.

That's when she hears knocks on her bedroom door followed by Emily asking them if they wanted to help shoot a student film downstairs.

* * *

Rachel loves movies as much as she loves theatre. She loves watching movies, studying movies, being in movies, and now, as Quinn has just found it, helping random strangers she's never met film movies.

Quinn stands sullenly beside the microphone guy, hands deep in her pockets to keep them from freezing. Her eyes are zeroed-in on an equally cold Rachel Berry, except Rachel is also pumped with giddiness after being asked if she wanted a tiny speaking role as an extra. The only positive to this whole thing is how cute Rachel looks giving the director some directing advices.

"Hey, you look cold, do you want a sip of my coffee?" Emily asks.

She quickly retreats when she sees the laser beam glare Quinn shoots her.

* * *

"I don't know what Justin Timberlake was expecting, there's only ever two ending roads when it comes to being friends with benefits." Rachel, buried underneath a mountain of blankets on Quinn's bed, holds up a finger, "1, they get together in the end because they've both developed feelings, or 2, they break up because only one did and the other doesn't want to tap that no more. He should have taken his comment as prediction and realize those arrangements never work out, thus saving us an hour and a half of his bad acting and Mila Kunis' horrible speaking voice."

Quinn, buried alongside Rachel, shrugs. "At least we got to see his beautiful body?"

"But his _acting_, Quinn, his _acting_."

"But his abs…and that little ass…and those curls."

Rachel shakes her head, bending forward to reach the remote on Quinn's nightstand, only her arms are too short and the mountains of blankets aren't exactly helping. She drops back down and whines, "_Quinn_, change the channel."

"No."

"Quinn, pleeease."

"I said no. We're more than halfway through the movie. Just suck it up and watch Justin end up with Mila."

"Quuuuiiiin, please."

"No."

"I'll stop talking?"

In one swoop, Quinn snatches up the remote and quickly changes the channel. The movie that happens to be playing on the next channel is _No Strings Attached_, starring Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman. They both groan into their blankets.

"Oh my god, he's even worst than Justin," Rachel says, sounding close to crying. "This must be my karma for sending Sunshine to a crack house. I wondered when payback was going to happen."

"I thought you said you weren't going to talk anymore?" Quinn teases.

"Well, apparently I lied, just like the people who ever told Ashton Kutcher he'd make a good actor."

Quinn laughs, changing the channel back to _Friends with Benefits_ so they can maybe finish the rest of that movie in peace. Rachel still adds in her occasional commentary and although they're funny in their indignation, Quinn still tells her to shut up. By the end of the movie, Rachel has fallen asleep with her head on Quinn's shoulder, while Quinn ponders over telling Rachel that the shampoo she stole from Quinn's bathroom is anything but vegan friendly and had been animal tested.

She spits out a bit of Rachel's hair. "Rachel, wake up, you're all over me."

"That's what she said," Rachel mumbles before pealing her eyes open.

"What?"

"Sorry, I've been hanging out with Santana too much." Rachel yawns, stretching her arms in the air and riding her sleep shirt up in the process.

Quinn can't help but notice the small section of tan, soft stomach. She brings her gaze up to Rachel's perky breast hidden behind the thin cotton of Quinn's borrowed t-shirt, freed from any bra. Rachel's apparently very cold. A wild, crazy thought occurs to Quinn, and if this were any other day and in any other situation, she'd have laugh it off. But they've already slept together, spent an entire day together without killing one another, and wasted an evening watching Justin Timberlake act, so Quinn can excuse it on being one of _those_ days.

She reaches out a hand and cups one of Rachel's breasts. "What do you think about a real life friends with benefit scenario?"

"What?"

"You and me?"

Rachel looks confuse before she laughs, swatting at Quinn's hands. "What did you think we were doing all this time, Quinn?"

Quinn shakes her head and her embarrassment away before saying, "Look, I just want to put it all out on the table so we're clear about things. We're both adults here, and while I can admit to finding you attractive, there's no way I'd ever fall in love with you and vice versa."

"Hey!"

"Come on now, Rachel. Really?"

Rachel thinks it over before shrugging. "Ok, yeah, I get it. So then I guess we're official? We're friends with benefits?"

"Yes."

"Does this mean you forgive me and we can have sex now?"

Quinn glares at her. "_I'm _not the one that agreed to take part in a student film, Rachel. I was all set on having sex until you opened your mouth and gave Emily the ok."

"But Quinn, it's like dangling candy in front of a baby. You can't tell me there's a stage for me to act on and then take it away."

"You do know no one's going to see that video except 20 students and a professor?"

"And that's 21 more fans that I'll be gaining, your point?"

"My point is, you lost your chance."

Rachel maneuvers around underneath the blankets until she lands on top of Quinn. She captures Quinn's lips in a heated kiss even as the girl beneath her tries to wiggle away. It's playful at first, with Quinn not giving in 100% and dodging the tongue Rachel wants to put in her mouth. Then the lingering arousal from before takes the better of Quinn and she just can't enough of Rachel.

She takes Rachel's lower, plump and slightly bruise lip between her teeth when she pulls back, a pleased smirk on her face. "Did I ever tell you how turned on I get when you get all egotistical?"

"Understandable. It's me."

Quinn laughs, smacking Rachel gently on the butt. "God give me strength for I have picked the most excruciatingly frustrating friend with benefits ever."


	4. Caught

**AN: **This was a monster. I really need to stop writing so much. Same 'verse as the other stories. Takes place from the wedding that never was and onwards until the summer. Since it's AU, I also decided to keep Finn alive because despite how horrible he is as a character sometimes, I don't think I'll be able to let him go. I also noticed that a lot of my stories have people catching people in the middle of sex. I swear that's not a kink of mine.

**Summary: **Caught. They think they have this whole friends with benefits/secret lovers thing down pat and hidden away from the rest of the world. For the most part they do, except for all the times they were caught by various members of New and Old Directions.

* * *

She wakes up with a headache and some boy named Ryder, but instead of shuffling through the awkward morning after talk, he invites her out to breakfast so they can 'hang.' The boy is sweet, really, but ever since she settled in LA and started blossoming into the grown (fine) ass woman she knows she could be, Mercedes Jones does not settle for less. Unfortunately, boys from Lima, Ohio fall under that lesser category.

She agrees anyway, because it's nearing noon and she should probably cleanse herself from last night.

And boy, was it a long night.

It's already a long day because the first couple she runs into after leaving her hotel room is Klaine - also known as Kurt and that other white boy that trails behind him like an obedient puppy. She gives them a raised eyebrow because, really? Really? At least they upgraded from a stanky car into an even stankier hotel room.

Klaine passes by her with embarrassed smiles (damn right they should be) and for a second it looked like Ryder and Blaine were about to stop and bro-talk, but she quickly drags her boy away before Blaine could break out into song. In her haste to escape the unwanted solo, she crosses a corner and bumps into the back of Artie's wheelchair.

She glances from him (shirt un-tuck, hair amuck) to his female companion (huge boobs trying to escape a dress that hasn't even been properly zipped up). Mercedes shares a look with Artie, silently trading much respect, before they nod at each other and leave in opposite directions.

They're near the elevator when Ryder stops her, his face even paler than normal, and whispers, "Can we take the next ride down?"

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know why; Mercedes has eyes, she can see the back of Marley and Puck Jr. entering the elevator. Mercedes also has a brain and heart, so she understands where Ryder is coming from. Young love can be such a bitch.

She agrees to take the next ride down, and they stand there for an awkward moment as the elevator closes and down goes Ryder's heart. She wants to voice out how there's plenty of fishes in the sea when all of a sudden, a wild Finn Hudson appears.

"Where's Rachel?" he immediate demands, because her life must revolve around Rachel enough to know where that 5 foot diva is 24/7.

"Apparently not with you," she shoots back, staring him down. She takes a small pleasure in knowing Rachel totally dined-and-dashed on the boy, if she was even with him to begin with.

"Someone told me she came to this hotel last night."

"And that has anything to do with me, how?"

Finn's face contorts into an expression akin to a toddler that has to poop really badly. He takes one look at her and Ryder before storming off to the elevator, kicking a nearby potted plant in the process.

"This sheet cray," she mumbles, rolling her eyes. She stops Ryder from getting in with Finn, because she is so not going to be stuck in an elevator listening to Finn bemoan Rachel. That means they'll have to wait some more for the next ride down, but oh well, it's not like this day can get any worst.

She might have spoken too soon, because a minute later something down the hall to her right catches her attention.

Or someone. Or some people.

Either way, it's two females wearing similar color dresses exiting a room, and she swears she's seen that hideous glitter throw-up jacket befo–

"Holy Jesus, Mary Mother of Christ," Mercedes nearly shouts.

"Huh? What?" Ryder asks.

She puts a hand to his mouth and shoves him into an alcove in the hallway. His eyes bulge out and he looks startled, as if she's about to pull a Tina Cohen-Chang on him, but Mercedes is too wrapped up in the happenings down the hallway to care.

She peaks her head out and dares to double-check, to make sure her eyes aren't deceiving her, to see that Hell hasn't opened up and swallowed them whole, to be 100 percent sure that it was indeed Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray leaving a hotel room wrapped up in each other's arms and….

And…

Kissing.

She has to squint because no way – ok, yes way. Totally way. It is definitely Quinn that's sucking onto Rachel's neck, and Rachel that's grabbing a handful of Quinn's ass.

They're actually giggling. Those two hos are actually giggling. Then Rachel is shoving Quinn away and loudly saying, "Ok, ok, you have to stop. Someone's going to come by and catch us. How about you just stay back in the room and I'll go get us some food?"

Then Quinn is whining, "Nooo. What are the chances of someone we know staying in the same hotel on the same floor as us? I like this."

Then Rachel is running a hand through Quinn's wanky hair, "I know you do," (Ew, Mercedes think), "But…you know how much faster it'll be if I get the food? I'm tiny and can maneuver around anything I put my mind to. Plus, I think no one would try and talk to me anyways."

"I don't mind your mouth at all, especially when you do that thing."

_Why God, why_, Mercedes thinks before she tries to zone out of their conversation. She does not need to hear them speak like that; she's never heard them speak like that, not even to their past boyfriends.

She had no idea they were even a thing.

She's so busy trying to wrap her mind around the logistics of it all that she almost misses the clank of Rachel's heels coming their way. She quickly flips her position with Ryder so that he's blocking her, his back to the outside. She hisses out a, "Hide us!" and pretends they're making out to throw off the scent that she's been spying.

It works because Rachel continues on her merry way, head lowered in incognito but definitely not in embarrassment. Mercedes can't believe how lucky Rachel and Quinn were because a few minutes earlier and they would have gotten_ Finn_ instead of her and Ryder.

It all sinks in the moment Rachel's gone.

Ryder has to help her from hyperventilating, and although this is gossip too good to be true, she doesn't tell him about Quinn and Rachel when he asks what happened. Maybe it's part of the growing up thing and minding her own business thing.

However, that doesn't stop her from immediately calling up and spilling the beans to her best friend.

* * *

Ever since Mercedes told him the big gossip, Kurt has been keeping a keen eye on Rachel. He hasn't told anyone yet, not even Santana or his own brother, because he's pretty sure Mercedes was either still drunk or hallucinating, and because he doesn't want to jump to conclusion and get lectured on by Rachel. Come on, common sense says Mercedes had been mistaken. It's Rachel and Quinn!

Last he heard, Rachel still wasn't over the Finn thing and Quinn wasn't over the whole penis thing. Both things had applied at the wedding because he saw Rachel's longing looks for Finn and Quinn eyeing up some 40 year old that could have – should have – been Mr. Schue's bestman instead of Kurt's 19-year-old stepbrother.

He saw all of that, and he definitely didn't see Quinn and Rachel hook up so he's going to ignore it for now. Sort of like how he ignored Mercedes and Ryder, Puck and his jailbait, and finally, Tina and her stank-eye.

Rachel's his BFF, she'd tell him if she was hooking up with someone behind his (brother's) back, right? Friends don't keep that sort of secrets from each other.

Still, he's going to keep an extra eye on Rachel just in case. She has been on her phone more than usual, and most of the time she's texting with that little smile on her face that used to be reserved for Finn. When she's actually speaking on the phone, it's either late at night or far away from him and Santana so they can't hear. He knows it's not Brody she's talking to because that douche has been out of the picture for a while. Kurt doesn't want to pry, but that's like dangling an Alexander McQueen in his face and expecting him not to go Tina Cohen-Chang on it.

One night, after coming home from one of Adam's spiritual bonding session, he sees Rachel outside on their fire escape (and she_ hates_ that place, because she's afraid she might slip through the railings and fall to her unprecedented demise and she doesn't trust him or Santana to do justice on her biography) and instead of sneaking up on her, he hangs back by the window. She's talking softly on the phone, but he's close enough to get his eavesdropping on. Mercedes would be proud.

"…I know people think it's crazy, but all the evidence is there. They're constantly at each other's side, always touching, always referring to one another, and you don't hear them talk about their men the same way they talk about each other..."

Even on the phone, Rachel doesn't allow a word in. The other person doesn't seem that bothered though, allowing Rachel to dominate the conversation. He takes a quick look around the apartment, making sure Santana or her lady of week isn't around, before pressing his ears closer to the window.

"…So that's why I believe Oprah and Gayle are in a secret relationship. Not like there's anything wrong with being in a secret relationship. Maybe they just want privacy, you know, because quite frankly their sexualities are not anyone else's business. It's sort of like Santana and Brittany before they came out. You must think I'm rambling, don't you?"

This is odd, Kurt thinks. Rachel sounds nervous and a little bit worried, so is this a serious conversation masked underneath Oprah's open secret? He goes through a list of people Rachel could be talking to because, honestly, with how Jerry Springer-esque the Glee Club is, she could be talking to anyone.

"...I don't think anyone have the right to push Oprah out of the closet. If she's happy with her current disposition, so then let it be. Knowing what sort of industry she's in, maybe it is a good thing she and Gayle are on the downlow..."

Quietness. Then a giggle. What? Kurt frowns, daring to sneak a look outside. Rachel sits against the railing, playing with one of her potted vegetable plant and fighting a stupid, almost lovesick grin. It's a sight he never thought he'd see after the whole Finn and Brody mess.

Oh my god, what if she's talking to Finn?

"…No…No…I understand...I have no idea why we're talking about Oprah Winfrey either." Her smile drops, eyes off in the distance. She suddenly gets serious. "I think we should meet up sometime this week. You can come here, or I can go there. But for now, you'll just have to make due with my beautiful voice."

Talk about conceited. Kurt rolls his eyes, thinking that's the end of that interesting phone call until he hears Rachel's voice dip into to a lower level he thought he'll never have to hear.

"…I know what you're trying to do and it's not going to work," she says. "…I'm outside right now, so think winter wear and layers of clothing...As tempting as your proposal is, I'll have to go indoors and under my covers. I wouldn't want a stray pedestrian to walk by and get an eyeful that's only meant for you, Quinn."

Kurt's neck lurches and he thinks he might have gone into a slight cardiac arrest. He's torn between wanting to barge outside and demanding "Why!" to running far away from where their conversation is shamelessly heading. Maybe he's hearing things, maybe she meant another Quinn or – oh, who the hell was he kidding, Mercedes wasn't lying!

The Glee club is incestuous and pretty darn gay, but he hadn't expected those two adjectives to overlap and seep into each other now that they've graduated into the Real World. After a night of roommate girl/boy talk and bonding, he learned that Rachel isn't as boy crazy as she's let on, having entertained thoughts of the woman-on-woman kind. It's Quinn that's shocking. His impression of her has always been the All-American, church-going, doll-dress wearing, Yale attending, straight WASP. Sure, she made that bad decision sleeping with Puck (which spiraled into multiple other bad decisions) but this – Rachel? Rachel!

This deserves a headline on gossipcop.

Kurt jerks away from the window when he hears their metal front door sliding open. He races back to the living area, tries to jump over the couch but underestimates the height and his aerobics skills and ends up with half his body on the floor. Santana and her bed buddy slash yoga teacher enters just in time to see him scrambling off the floor and fixing his shirt.

"Won't even ask, weirdo," Santana says, giving Kurt a wink and two thumbs up.

"Oh, was I supposed to bring questions?" The yoga teacher slash one night stand asks.

Kurt wrinkles his nose because most of Santana's girls make as much sense as a fortune cookie from that bootlegged Chinese shop around the block. He waits until the teacher makes a turn into Santana's bedroom before hopping over to Santana with the intention of scandalous news.

The plan fails when Rachel crawls back into the room, phone nowhere in sight. "What?" she asks when she notices his wide eyes on her.

"What? What?" Kurt replies back.

Santana looks between the two of them. "Are you guys ok? Didn't dabble in my stash when I was gone, did you?"

"No!" he squeaks. He turns back to Rachel with a toothy smile. "Of course we're ok, why wouldn't we be ok? How about you, Rachel? Are you fine? Where have you been this entire time? I thought I was home all alone. Didn't even see you there!"

"Um, I was outside tending to my vegetable garden."

"Which is code word for getting high."

"Santana!"

"Oh, quit it Berry. We all do it. Just last week I did it in your bedroom."

Rachel gasps, scandalized. Kurt is tempted to shout, "Liar!"at Rachel because Rachel was everything but outside tending to her garden. It's 8 at night, who even works on plants in the dark? He even goes as far as opening his mouth before clamming up because a little censor flares over his head. If Mercedes was right, then this little Rachel and Quinn abomination has been happening since that failure of a wedding, which means they've been keeping it a secret for at least a month now. Who knows when it actually started!

And, well, Rachel has been his best friend and confidante. She's the only one who knows about his relapse into sleeping with Blaine…and sending Blaine dirty text messages and even filthier pictures, and lying to Adam about Blaine, and flying out for a secret rendezvous with Blaine last weekend…But that's besides the point, the point is, Rachel has been keeping his secret and maybe he should keep hers.

He's no Mercedes or Tina or Santana.

In due time, something is bound to give. Because last he heard, Rachel still wasn't over the Finn thing and Quinn wasn't over the whole penis thing.

He's going to keep telling himself that.

He'll just keep their tryst to himself until Rachel trusts him enough and finds it suitable to talk to him, or until he can't withhold the information any longer and self-combusts with all the dirty secrets.

Yes, yes, that's what he's going to do.

Yes.

* * *

When Kurt tells her to keep an eye out on Rachel and Quinn, Santana pays it no second thought. She already knows what's happening. She's known since two weeks ago when she got the call about a Yeast-I-Stat commercial she'd been auditioning for (she saw the ad on NYADA's Myspace bulletin board. Yes, thanks to Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez has now begun using Myspace and what a twisted world this is).

So, it's safe for Santana to assume that Quinn's last minute weekend visit is for her, because lets be real, why would anyone willingly want to see GayBerry's ugly mugs now that they're no longer obligated to like they were in high school? It's not a surprise that out of the three of them, Santana's the first one to land a gig.

They haven't officially congratulated her yet, but Santana's expecting it. Soon.

In the meantime, she plans on jump starting the celebration with a lil R&R at Callbacks. There are better places to throw a huge celebration in her honor, but fuck it, Santana's used to the flirty bartenders who give them occasional free drinks, and all the hot NYADA college girls who don't hesitate to 'experiment.' This being a girls' night means Kurt and Adam are invited, but they have to attend some stupid band meeting for Adam's orgy group first.

For now, it's just her, Rachel, and Quinn at a booth nursing alcoholic beverages that Rachel doesn't quite approve of, but will go along with since everyone else is doing it. They're unusually quiet, so Santana takes it upon herself to fill the silences with her riveting cage dancing anecdotes. Rachel seems interested enough, but Quinn looks bored out of her mind and stares off into the crowd as if someone there is personally offending her. To be honest - and if there's anything Santana is, it's honest - these girls are boring as fuck and the only reason Santana hasn't ditched them yet is because she's not drunk enough to venture off on her own. NYADA people are crazy on top of being hot, so she doesn't want to wake up in anyone's bathtub with her kidneys missing as part of an art exhibition.

Quinn did come all the way here for her and they were supposed to be secretly-but-not-so-secretly celebrating her success.

"Ok, enough about me," Santana says, waving her hands, "Although, my life has been pretty amazing these last few months, let's talk about your boring asses. So, Rachel, we all know you went through a horrible crisis after finding out Barbie Brody wasn't a prostitute after all, and instead it was worst, just a low life nerd who moonlighted as an obsessive World of Warcraft gold farmer. So what about you, Quinn, how's it going? How's that love life of yours?"

She puts emphasis on the "love" part because last she heard, Quinn was _still_ secretly-but-not-that-secretly bumping uglies with her married Yale professor. Santana wants to see her squirm, see her put on a fake smile and justify their adulterous and slightly pedophellic romance through gritted teeth, right in front of Rachel. It's always more fun tearing Quinn a big one with others around.

Quinn glares hard at Santana before taking a sip of her Cosmopolitan. "Everything is great. Yale's as fantastic and as difficult as ever, my life for once isn't a Lifetime movie, and love? Who needs love? I'm young, single, and attractive. That's good enough for me."

"So you're not seeing anyone then?" Santana presses. "No one at all? Not like, say, a middle aged man who happens to teach at Whities R Us?"

"Without commenting on your lack of subtlety, no," Quinn says, her eyes making a quick dart at Rachel. "That was bad judgement on my part, and I told him if he pressures me into anything else then I'm going to make sure the schoolboard knows just how great and attentive he is to his students."

Quinn smiles that beautiful, sugary sweet smile of hers, and it makes Santana want to gag. She can tell that Quinn's calmed down a bit, and besides her horrible taste in men, Quinn's beginning to get it together and all it took was Jodie Foster's clambake and an all female sorority.

Santana wonders if she too should join a feminist group. She could be like, their hot mascot, and having seen past feminist groups, they're in desperate need of one.

"Once again, you bore me," Santana says, snapping at the waiter to get her another drink. "Lets go back to Rachel. So I heard you've been sexting, how very 8th grade of you. Who's the unlucky fellow? Finn? Brody? That Terry guy from work? _All three_?"

Quinn's smile drops. "What?"

Rachel groans. "I have not been doing anything of the sort!"

"Don't lie, I know you still have problem talking about your relationship with Finn – " Quinn grips her wine glass, Rachel fidgets in her seat, " – It's ok, it's completely understandable. Sometimes I have a hard time mentioning Finn's name too, because I have war flashbacks to the time that behemoth was on top of me. Picture a dolphin getting run over by a speedboat - that's how sexy it was. My doctors tell me it's post-traumatic stress disorder."

Quinn and Rachel share a look that goes unnoticed by Santana who continues, "Here's some advice, the best way to get over someone is to get underneath someone else. Unless you're Tina Cohen-Chang, than maybe you shouldn't be trying to get at anybody because you'll most likely end up in jail for vaporape."

Rachel stammers, "I don't...Um, I'm not a sure...it was a 3 year relationship, I don't think I'm ready...I mean, you saw how horrible things ended with Brody, and we weren't even technically together. I think I'm fine doing this single thing." She quickly raises her glass and downs half in 2 seconds.

"Sure," Quinn says, staring at her own drink. "As long as you've realized that Finn isn't the be all, end all, of all relationships, and that high school romances have a very low success rate."

"Because you're such an expert on relationships," Rachel says, and Santana's a bit surprised to hear how snappy she sounds.

Quinn shoots Rachel a hard look. "I'm sorry, did I strike a nerve? At least Santana recognizes the need to leave a dead horse alone."

Santana snickers, feeling the great ol' affect of alcohol in her system. "Lets be real Rach, you wouldn't past a chance for another ride on Finn Wide-As-A Hudson River. I'm over B, but at least I can admit I wouldn't past a chance to get in those pants again."

"You're wrong." Rachel turns her focus on Quinn. "When I say I'm not ready for a relationship, I mean I'm not ready for a relationship. It doesn't mean I have some ulterior motive to get back with my ex-boyfriend."

Quinn laughs bitterly. "I know you Rachel - god, I'm sure even the janitor at your school knows you. You're an open book, one that we've all read and memorized, and when it comes to Finn, you make the same mistakes over and over again. You don't change."

"Wow, talk about deja vu. I'm sure we've had this conversation before. Sorry to break it to you, Quinn, but it's not like you've changed your ways either. I wasn't surprised when you decided not to talk to me for a week, because once again, the moment you don't get your way, you freeze everyone out."

Quinn matches Rachel's humorless smile with her own. "Looks like you have me all figured out. So why is it do you think I'm here, Rachel? What's my reason now? Come on, I'm sure everyone at this table will like to know."

Rachel huffs, making a move toward her drink - except she touches air because during her argument Santana had stolen it. She crosses her arms instead. "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for your games, Quinn. Whatever your reasons are for being here, I'm sure it's self-serving."

Santana feels like she's been dropped in some foreign soap opera with very bad actors and she has no freakin' idea what's going on. As they ping pong back and forth, she checks her Facebook, replies back on some of her Twitter followers, emails one of her girlfriends, and sends pictures of dead animals to Kurt. She zones out on their argument until something along the lines of, "I can't believe I came all the way out here for you," spills from Quinn's mouth and it feels like she's completely sober.

"Wait," Santana says, cutting off Rachel's incoming comment with a, "You came to New York for _Rachel_?"

"What? No? Did I say that?" Quinn tries to laugh it off, but Santana Lopez knows a fake Quinn Fabray laugh when she hears it.

"You did come out here for her!" Santana accuses, suddenly feeling emotionally charged. "I thought - I thought all this time you were here to visit your best friend, ME. To tell me, 'hey Santana, congratulations on landing your first nation wide commercial and being one step closer to the star you obviously are.' But fuck no, you're here for someone who can't even reach the top of the stove?"

"Hey!" Rachel and Quinn yells at the same time, but one glance at each other and they shut up.

"Ok, enough!" Santana stands up from her seat. "I'm so – so angry! I need to…I need to…Solo! I need to solo!"

Rachel gasps. "That's my thing!"

"Exactly, and I'm stealing it from you just like you stole my night!"

Santana storms off toward the stage and pushes a hipster/homeless looking NYADA student away from the mic-stand. The Callbacks employees have known drunk Santana long enough to know not to intervene when she's in her fury fits because no one wants to end up in the hospital, and because her anger usually lead to awesome performances.

She's midway through "You're So Vain" when she realizes that Rachel and Quinn aren't at the table anymore. Annoyed that they've up and ditched her, she storms off again, this time tossing the mic-stand at the unsuspecting piano guy. She pushes her way through a cheering crowd, aiming for the restroom to freshen up before heading home. The restroom door barely closes behind her when she freezes, her mouth dropping open.

Rachel and Quinn are pressed up against the sink, kissing each other. Tongues all up and into each other's mouth. _Eating_ each other's faces. Doing things and making noises that Santana has only heard and witness in horror films.

Rachel has one hand twisted in Quinn's hair while Quinn's digits are mysteriously hidden underneath Rachel's skirt. Like, where could those tiny manhands possibly be?

"Oh, hell no!" Santana shouts.

Rachel and Quinn jump apart, stumbling into opposite sides. "Oh, Mah, Barbra" Rachel annunciates with a thick New York accent. Quinn just looks pissed off.

"Hell to the no," Santana repeats, "I am way too drunk for this shit." And with that, she turns around and slams the door behind her.

* * *

It's Spring Break, and to say Mike's a little annoyed at his parents is a big understatement. Instead of agreeing to send him to Cancun along with the rest of his UCLA friends, his parents insist that he must come back to Lima for a visit and that he must stay for the entire week. Because his dad is funding his entire college career, and his mom has these eyes a person can't say no to, he relents. So, that means no hot babes in bikini and no underage drinking until he pukes up his lever.

The positive side to being back home in this Podunk town is that he gets to spend time with his former Glee club friends. He's surprised how he's managed to stay in contact with most of them, either through Facebook, Skype, or constant texting. Even the ones who were never close to him back in high school have somehow become a fixture in his life.

Take Rachel, for instance.

He doesn't remember ever trading more than two sentences with her during their entire high school run together. Mostly because he was afraid that as soon as he becomes familiar with Rachel, all of McKinley's drama will follow him like they seem to do with the people around her, and he prefers being the quiet Asian in the background. Nowadays, they constantly text back and forth because Rachel can't seem to let Glee club die and enjoys spamming him with lengthy monologues. He even got a Myspace account because of her, and she became a fan of Attack on Titans because of him.

And through Rachel, he got close with Quinn.

They share a lot more in common than he initially thought. Firstly, they were put under the pressure of their parents to carry the torch of their family name, or some noble Samurai stuff like that. Secondly, they loved live music and used to attend as many concerts as they could in little Lima, Ohio. Thirdly, they're quiet people who enjoyed sitting back and watching everything around them.

It's surprising, sure, that Queen Bee Quinn Fabray would now rather be a wallflower than the center of attention, but Mike's found himself the perfect buddy to sit under a tree and read a book with so he's not going to question it.

Where he gets his loud and fun with Rachel, he gets his calm and serenity with Quinn.

In truth, coming back to Lima isn't all that depressing when it's a Friday night at Puck's house, and he's drinking beer and playing video games with Puck, Quinn, Rachel, Mercedes, Artie, Puck's brother Johnathan and Johnathan's girlfriend, Miley. Or was that Jim and Miranda? Who cares, it's not like he'll ever get to know the junior New New Directions anyways.

Rachel and Quinn are huddled together on Puck's beanbag chair, with Mercedes and Miley sitting Indian Style in front of them, gossiping about whatever crazy thing Santana and Kurt are getting up to in New York. When Quinn looks over at him, he catches her attention and smiles sweetly at her. Maybe it's the three beers he's had, but he's finding it hard to look away from Quinn.

She's so pretty, like what he imagines princesses to look like in fairytales or Disney movies.

In his current tipsy state, he'd admit his first choice of New Direction girls wouldn't have been Tina, but Quinn Fabray. And that was all before he found out how…creepy Tina can be. Honestly, he's had a little crush on Quinn since freshman year, and said crush has resurfaced and seemed to have grown during the last couple of months now that he's newly single and ready to mingle.

He knows she's single and hasn't been messing with that professor in a while, so he hopes that maybe he could get her alone before they have to go their separate ways. He doesn't plan on anything serious since they live across the country from each other, but it wouldn't hurt to try something out and see where it takes them. Quinn's such a cool chick when she's not planning something psychotic, it'll be a shame to let her go.

He hands his control over to Puck's brother Josh and does this crazy knee twirl that lands him in front of the girls. They all giggle at him as he takes a confident bow, still on his knees.. "Are you ladies thirsty? How about a refill, or some wine coolers?" he asks them.

"Oh, what a gentleman," Mercedes clutches her chest dramatically. "I'll have a strawberry daiquiri."

Miley or Monica shyly shakes her head.

Quinn hands him both hers and Rachel's cups. "Thank you, Mike. I, for one, am all about the male figure finding chivalrous ways to get me drunk. Just ask Puck."

He thinks she's joking, so he smiles awkwardly.

Rachel nudges Quinn's side, whispers something quick in her ear, and then to Mike she placates, "Just juice for me and Quinn, please and thank you!"

Mike's fingers linger over Quinn's hand when he takes their cups. He might have been quiet in Glee, but he's not a shy guy by any means. He knows what he wants and he goes for it (unless his parents are the obstacle, then he'd rather shrivel than have to face them). He doesn't break her eye contact when he half-smiles, salutes, and does a funny dance all the way to the kitchen.

Pucks already in there making nacho cheese, and they're close friends enough for him to ask bluntly, "Hey so, I think I wanna ask Quinn out. Any advice?"

Puck cocks an eyebrow and offers a toneless, "Why, dude? She's crazy."

He laughs rather than get mad at Puck's blasé attitude. "Why? Because she's cool and I like her? And lets be real, the only time she was ever crazy was when it involved you."

Puck shrugs. "Your funeral, man. She might be cool but she's also high maintenance, her girl friends are protective as shit, and expect a very long vacation in the Sahara desert for your pecker - unless she gets a baby kick, than maybe you'll get Jr. Chang wet."

"Getting what wet?" Rachel asks, skipping into the kitchen.

"No one," Mike says, but Puck's "Mike wants underneath Quinn's dress," drowns him out.

Mike grimaces when he sees Rachel's smile drop, and that angry look is etched across her face. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," he says quickly. "I was just uh – it's not, you know, serious. I just wanted to um – just for the future – if I ever wanted to like – Quinn's a cool and pretty chick and –"

Rachel raises her hand, silencing him. "That's good enough. I'd rather not have to listen to my _friend_ wanting underneath my _best_ _friend's_ dress, ok, Mike? Quinn would not appreciate the two of you talking about her behind her back like a – like a piece of meat. Especially you, Michael. I would expect it from Puck, but you should know better."

Rachel – being Rachel – storms out. Mike's all out of words, so he turns to Puck for _something_, but all Puck does is shrug.

It's pretty hard to face Rachel for the rest of the night. She seems to sit even closer to Quinn, nearly on the other girl's lap, and doesn't leave her side. Whenever he tries to get in a conversation with Quinn, Rachel makes some long-winded remark that redirects the topic to herself and successfully shuts him down. Quinn hasn't shown any attitude change towards him, so Mike at least appreciates Rachel for not tattling on him.

He really does want to apologize.

But they don't leave each other alone for one second, which is odd when he remembers how much they hated each other in high school.

He doesn't miss the way Quinn's hand would linger low on Rachel's back, or when Rachel would always whisper in Quinn's ear, and how the two of them seem to be off in their own world. He puts it off as Rachel being that protective friend and Quinn lapping up the attention because really, it's Rachel and Quinn so it can't be any other way. They fight 50% of the time, and he doesn't expect this night to end without them getting into an argument (probably over a boy (maybe him?)).

When Rachel's hovering becomes too much, reminding him of how Tina started suffocating him during their last year together, Mike decides to save Quinn. He doesn't want things to get too uncomfortable, especially since Rachel's overprotectiveness must have started because of Puck's comment in the kitchen. He tries to ease the tension by flashing Rachel an innocent smile, then asking her politely if he can borrow Quinn. Without waiting for Rachel's response, he grabs Quinn's hand and pulls her quickly away before anyone could interfere.

There's no dance floor, just Puck's living room, and there's no dancers, just a tipsy Mercedes spinning around on Artie's lap, Puck attempting to moon walk, and Puck's brother Jared with his girlfriend Michelle making fools of themselves. He knows Quinn can really dance when she wants to, so he hopes to loosen her up and give her some fun, and maybe they can get some privacy and talk later.

He twirls her around a few times before attacking her six ways til Sunday with his charm.

They're having a genuine good time, if he can say so himself, before he feels _her_ presence loom over them like a dark cloud, and before he knows it, Rachel is there, right behind Quinn. He tries to ignore how Rachel is awkwardly grinding behind Quinn, how Quinn ends up turning around in his arms to face her, how they're now more wrapped up in each other than they care for him. He tries to ignore Puck's catcalls, Mercedes obnoxious laugh, and Artie fumbling into him out of nowhere.

He wants to take Rachel aside and tell her, "Bro – that's not cool," when he remembers that Rachel is in love with Finn and Quinn is anything but another Santana. In a rare moment, he gets angry and does his best Rachel Berry-storm out – but subtly, because Mike Chang doesn't do dramatics.

He's outside enjoying the fresh air and clearing his head for about a minute when both Rachel and Quinn join him. He doesn't know what to say to them, or specifically Rachel, without coming off like a jerk so he keeps quiet and stares into the darkness.

"Somehow, with everyone a little drunk it's like a sauna in there," Rachel says.

Quinn laughs quietly. "Like an unsexy, swamp sauna."

Mike refrains from commenting. He keeps his jaw set and his eyes forward, but it's hard to not be aware that Rachel has an arm around Quinn, and they're most likely snuggling.

"So…" Rachel starts again. "Now that I've taken a breather, it's awfully freezing out here. Do you want to head back inside?"

"You go first. I'll see you in a bit."

Then it happens.

He doesn't necessarily see it but rather, he hears it. It's not really quick, it's not really innocent, and it's not really friendly. It's wet, moist, coupled with three or so smacking noises, then a soft giggle, and then Rachel's leaving.

He turns to Quinn as soon as the door closes behind them.

"Yeah," is all she says, giving him a surprisingly apologetic smile.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I thought she…isn't she with that Terry guy?"

"She is." Quinn's look is enough to silence his judgment. "But...she's going to break up with him. We're not officially together, but she means a lot to me, and I'd like to think that I mean a lot to her too. Just know that it's serious and more important than something one would ever talk to Puck about inside a kitchen."

She nudges him playfully, making him smile, but then his smile turns upside down because, damn.

* * *

She hears it from Puck who got it from the dancer guy who had told Puck not to tell anyone, but really now, what person with two brain cells would ever trust Puck with anything. Kitty knows it's a stupid rumor as soon as the words leave Puck's mouth. Leave it to the boys to happily spread such a salacious rumor if they so happen to see two girls do something as innocent as hold hands. If Puck wasn't so good looking and being her closest connection to Quinn Fabray, she'd have discarded him like an unwanted fat friend.

Kitty has much more important things to do, like manicures and plotting devious ways to ruin Marley Rose's life. After Puck wastes approximately 10 minutes of her time with his sadistic gossip, she demands he get on all fours and do push-ups with her on his back, otherwise one call to her daddy and Puck will wish he never laid eyes on Kitty Damn You're Gorgeous Wilde.

Still, the seed has been planted, and it's not like she can wash her mind off with soap. Some dirty things tend to stick in crevices even her form of acid can't erase – like that one sight of Tina Cohen-Chang trying to lay one on Blaine Warbler during the Sadie's Hawkings dance.

The images of Quinn and that girl won't go away, but if she can ignore how _Fast and Furious_ made minorities a trend then...then she can ignore this.

She semi-succeeds at not thinking about it too much, that is until the dreadful day of Nationals.

Thanks to her undeniable talent and bribing skills, New New Directions scraped by with a Regional win and are now heading into Nationals. Because these graduates have nothing better to do with their lives, most of them have decided to come home to see her – er, the New New Directions compete.

Quinn is part of that group, having missed Regionals because of a lame excuse called pneumonia. Like, what is that even? With Quinn comes Santana and unfortunately, Rachel. Kitty wishes it had been Rachel who had gotten pneumonia and then maybe get hit by a car. A little.

Anyways.

She knows there's no bigger bitch than Santana Lopez. She learned from Santana Lopez, although the Mexican never knew she had a pupil. You see, Kitty Wilde is too smart to bite when the enemy's back isn't turned. As a freshman under Santana's reign, she stayed hidden in the shadows where she learned to pick up and mastered all of Santana's evil traits. Ever since Santana up and left with her back turned to Lima, Ohio, Kitty isn't afraid to strike anymore.

Oh, and she struck good.

Struck right into Santana's very own Brittany S. Pierce. She likes to think she played a hand in making that dumbass feel even more insecure about herself, thus initiating project breakup Brittana. She also may have whispered in Blaine's ears that there's nothing wrong with finding other men attractive, and that hey, everyone gets a little lonely sometimes.

What she should have struck was the heart of that sick and twisted Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry friendship when she had the chance. She should have also created some plan to rekindle Rachel's romance with her bumbling, stupid oaf of an ex-boyfriend back when they were performing _Grease, The Pathetic_ version. That way, at least Kitty would be able to sleep at night knowing that the only thing on that Jewish girl's mind was quick ways to steal gold and Finn Hudson.

Now, Kitty's stuck trying to ignore what Puck had told her, that Quinn is secretly in a relationship but not really relationship with Rachel. But it's hard to ignore something that's right in front of her face, laughing and giggling like an obsessed schoolgirl on a date with her future abusive husband slash sparkling vampire.

She's never seen Quinn act like that before, and she's seen Quinn – a lot – in various ways, forms, personalities, hairstyles, and angst level. She, and the majority of McKinley, has seen Rachel Berry act like a whipped bitch for years thanks to that god awful Finn, so she knows smitten when she sees one. So far, all Rachel and Quinn have been doing is a lot of low whispering and subtle touches, nothing that seems abnormal to anyone who isn't paying attention.

Kitty isn't just anyone though. She has been paying attention, having stood in the dark shadows where she can keep a keen eye on the duo. While the rest of her teammates are off in their dressing rooms getting ready for Nationals, Kitty is skipping from dark corners to dark corners, following Rachel and Quinn's every move.

She hasn't talked to Quinn the entire day, and she desperately wants some last minute advice and tips to wow the judges, but in order to stay incognito she has to be as invisible as Kevin Richardson was in the Backstreet Boys. It hurts her so much, not to be able to reach out and touch Quinn the way Jesus touched everyone's (but the homosexuals) hearts. She wants to prove to Quinn that there are better species out there than _Rachel Freakin' Berry._

"This is lame," she whispers, rolling her eyes as she hangs precariously on a lighting rail.

Quinn and Rachel are currently being boring, sitting in the greenroom and chatting about some indie band no one listens to. She notices Finn slouched on a nearby wall, watching the pair as intently she is, except he's being much more How-To-Catch-A-Predator looking. Kitty spends another 10 minutes watching them from her position on the rail before she dozes off. It's the sensation of falling that wakes her up, and she uses her catlike reflexes to hang onto the lighting rig.

She blinks awake and notices that she's the only one in the greenroom alongside Rachel and Quinn who are still suspiciously snuggled up on the couch. Finn has disappeared, thank god, because she was starting to get the creepers from his constant stalking.

"I shouldn't be annoyed," Quinn whispers, but loud enough for Kitty to hear.

"You shouldn't be," Rachel agrees.

"But I am."

"But you are."

"I didn't like the way he looks at you - continues to look at you."

Kitty's eyebrows mesh together, because what the hell?

"I would normally find your jealousy issues attractive any other day, but this is Finn we're talking about. I'm tired of having him come in between us. I thought we were turning a new leaf here."

Quinn grunts, lolling her head to the side. "I'm being ridiculous, don't you think I know that? I hate feeling like this, being this way. I finally have you and being back here just brings back bad memories and I…I don't want to lose you to him of all people."

"Hey, look at me, baby," Rachel cups Quinn's chin and turns her head so they're centimeters away from each other's faces. Kitty feels the need to throw up over hearing the term of endearment and witnessing Quinn's ability to be so close to Rachel without this being some sort of sick joke. "There will be no losing me to anything. Finn Hudson could buy me another star and I still wouldn't give him the time of day. You're the only one in my tunnel vision."

"Are you going to start singing Justin Timberlake to me?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Do you want me to say what I really want you to do?"

"Quinn…the door…"

"Already locked, babe."

Kitty is glued to her spot, too horrified to scream or act or even blink. For the next hour, any doubts Kitty had over their blasphemy relationship are destroyed. There's not enough bleach in the world to cleanse her eyes with. All the praying she will do for the following week is useless. She burns all her Quinn Fabray memorabilia and the fanpage she once dedicated to one former Head Cheerio is deleted and erased from the Internet forever.

* * *

Tina Cohen-Chang has had enough of being the butt of every joke. She's sick and tired of everyone treating her as Asian #1, only important whenever they need to bust out a token minority now that Mercedes graduated. She's made some horrible mistakes in her life – like certain unmentionable acts on a certain unmentionable gay guy– but she's a lot more than just her race or her mistakes.

She's Tina Cohen-Chang dammit, and she's going to prove herself.

Strutting down McKinley's empty hallway in her graduation gown, the only thing on Tina's mind is busting out an incomparable, unforgettable solo for their closing ceremony. Everybody will be in so much awe that they'll regret the day they only gave her two or three lines to sing per year. She just needs to find the music sheet she accidentally left back in the choir room and then she'll be on her way back to the football field.

Her plan is going smoothly until she steps two feet into the choir room.

There, on the piano bench, is Rachel Berry with her head thrown back and her skirt tossed up around her waist. In between her bare legs is a very recognizable Quinn Fabray whose head is bobbing up and down. Any question of it being Quinn is answered by Rachel who goes on to moan in a breathy voice, "Right there, Quinn... God, baby that feels so good…I've – I've always dreamed about doing this in here."

Tina slowly backs out of the door, spins around on her heels, speed-walks out of the hallway, runs across the schoolyard to the football field, takes her spot next to the rest of the Glee clubbers, and stares ahead.

"Tina, are you o–"

Tina lifts up her palm. "Shut up, Mr. Schue."

* * *

Finn knows deep within his heart that Rachel Berry is his girl. During last Valentines Day, he even spent an entire day coming up with a gardening metaphor to sweep her off her feet. Ok, so he might've had some help from Sam and he might've made Kurt proofread it, but it all mostly came from inside of him anyways. Ok, so she might've blew him off by saying it was a sweet metaphor only to go running back to Quinn and Santana, and whatever plans he had for them that day was thrown out the window, but he's pretty sure she knows deep within herself that they _are_ endgame.

That's why he laughed in Puck's face when Puck dropped some hints that Rachel and Quinn were sleeping together. Because, what the hell? His ex-girlfriend with his future wife? Rachel wouldn't do that to him.

He also laughed, albeit more forcefully, when he came back from his semester in college to the sound of Tina gossiping about seeing Rachel and Quinn together in a very sexy way. Then he remembered what Tina did to Blaine which means she must have been lying just to get attention.

None of them made sense anyways. Rachel and Quinn hated each other. He's pretty sure the only reason why they became friends during senior year and semi-kept in touch after graduation was because of him. Quinn obviously wanted to be his friend again and Rachel is forever his girl, so logic says they're trying to be nice to each other for his sake. Even though everyone has graduated and most have moved out of Lima, they still find themselves hanging out together during the holidays and summer, and it's no fun being in a room with two girls constantly going at each other's throat.

It's nice, because Finn misses his friends. College is fun, hot loose chicks and all, but they can't replace his good ol' Glee clubbers.

"Finn, you need to stop eating the cookie dough or else you're going to have a tummy ache," Kurt reprimands him, snatching up his lifeline.

Finn frowns, because he's incredibly hungry and all the food in the kitchen has been reserved for the summer party his mom wants to throw in honor of Burt fighting his cancer. Finn thinks it's great and all, but he really wants to eat the cookies in front of him. They shouldn't have put cookies in front of him.

"Finn, can I talk to you for a second?" Kurt asks.

He quickly drops an oatmeal cookie he thought he had successfully snuck off the plate. Kurt just gives him a stern look then beckons him to the backyard, where the party's been set up but no one's there yet. He picks up the cookie and devours it before Kurt turns around.

"Before everyone gets here, I just wanted to have a chat with you," Kurt says.

Finn's grin turns into worry. "Ok, cool. But why are you so serious? You're not in trouble or anything are you, because I'm pretty broke and I don't think I can bail you out."

Kurt makes a face. "What? No, I'm not in trouble. I just wanted to talk to you about some of our friends before they get here. You know, since you've been busy in college, a lot of things have changed."

"I was only away for 3 months, Kurt, and I saw everyone at Nationals. What can possibly change so much in that time?"

"Just…things. You know, people grow up, grow old, feelings change, people change, things like that." At Finn's perplexed face, Kurt goes on to explain, "For instance, take me and Blaine. A part of me will always love Blaine and I'm glad he's coming to New York but I'm happy with Elliot now and nothing will ever happen between us again. I think it's for the better too, because looking back, my god was that not a healthy relationship."

Finn nods, smiling, although he's confused about Kurt's point. As much as he loves Kurt like a brother, they're not exactly close in that way to be sharing relationship details. He still gets confused sometimes when he sees pictures of Kurt and Blaine together, because Blaine's such a bro that…it's just surprising.

"I'm happy for you," Finn says slowly. "That's good, right? You getting over Blaine and um, we're all growing up and stuff. I like to think I've changed too."

"And you have," Kurt assures him. "I don't think I've ever seen you so focused before. I'm proud of you, for getting out of Mr. Schue's shadow, for not being stuck in my dad's shop, for finding your own passion in life."

Finn ducks his head, taken back by the compliment. It's still a new feeling sometimes to feel good about himself and his choices. "What about Rachel? Has she…do you think she's proud of me too?"

"Of course she is." Kurt pats his arm, but Finn doesn't miss the way his smile drops. "That's what I wanted to talk about too. Rachel's changed a lot, you know that, right? I think you shouldn't put her on too high of a pedestal anymore, Finn. She's not the girl that you left back in New York, and I'm saying this as someone who's lived with her for almost a year and got to know her like my own sister."

Finn feels an irk of frustration over Kurt's words. Just because Kurt's lived with her, doesn't mean he knows her or their relationship like Finn does. Nobody gets them but them. "I understand what you're trying to say, but I think I can handle it."

"Are you sure? Because I don't want you to blow up and harm any chairs if you get surprised by anything."

Kurt's trying to joke with him, and instead of finding it humorous Finn just gets more annoyed. "Yeah, I'm sure. Look, we're not like you and Blaine. We've both changed, yeah, but our love for each other is sort of timeless you know? Like a Will Smith movie."

Kurt makes a choked, whiny sound before he nods his head, finally agreeing to Finn's common sense. Finn feels a lot more at east when Kurt gives him another pat on the shoulder before venturing inside to start the party. An hour later, and most of their friends from Glee club has arrived and it's just like the conversation never happened.

He knows Rachel's there the moment he feels her presence. They're forever tethered together so of course he'll know when she's nearby. What he doesn't expect though, is that Quinn is also nearby.

And they're holding hands.

Only for a little bit, because as soon as he looks up and catches Rachel's eyes, her and Quinn part and go in opposite directions. They even share a quick kiss to each other's cheeks. Quinn walks over to Burt and Finn can hear them start a chat about political stuff that he usually gets too bored to think about. Rachel, however, keeps his gaze and gives him a nice, all too pleasant and _friendly_ smile before merging herself into Kurt's group. She didn't even bother to say hi to him. He'd have focused on her smile if the image of her holding Quinn's hand and kissing Quinn's cheek weren't burned in his mind.

Puck's words, Tina's gossip, and even Kurt's warning all comes to him at once.

And people like to call him slow.


	5. Possessive

**AN: **Thank you all for reading for the 343223th time. Once again, same verse as the other chaps. This is a day late, oops. I'm out of ideas for the Tattoo prompt, but I do plan to write something for Snowed In, it's just that I don't have anything written yet so that might take a while. This was a bitch to get out because of timeline issues. Stupid Glee and their prolonging the school year has my head all tangled up. So um...suspend your belief and bare with me?

**Summary: **Possessive. You feel like you're a dog, she's a cat, and you're both acting territorial over this grocery store.

* * *

You know you should be concern over the fact that your hands are tied behind a chair, your mouth is duck-taped, and there is a cult of singing waiters twirling around you. Maybe you should even reconsider your job choices because what else are these crazy people capable of if this is how they treat their new employees. Except, you're so entranced by the waitress with huge chocolate eyes, a height deficiency, and cute bangs that you forget about being kidnapped into a white van on your way to work at 7 in the morning.

You had never believed in love at first sight until now.

Midway through whatever welcome song the cult – your new coworkers – are singing, the waitress with the bangs abruptly halts and demands a stop to everything. They all do as she says, most of them unwillingly, and your suspicion of her being the 'leader' is confirmed. "Santana, what are you doing? We're supposed to be enthusiastic and welcoming, not out of tune and sleepwalking."

"You're so lucky I'm only half awake right now, Berry," says the Santana girl, leaning heavily on another girl with blonde hair.

"I'm sorry, but as assistant manager in training, it's my duty to make sure everyone here gets it, otherwise what sort of example are we setting for the future of Spotlight employees?" Berry gives you a blinding white smile that melts your insides and makes you want to sing _her_ songs until you pass out. "Mr. Terry Eisenhower," she addresses you, "don't mistake the incompetence of a few for weakness. We're the best of the absolute best here. Now, from the top everyone!"

Later on, after you've been untied to the chair and given a work uniform, Rachel Berry introduces herself. She's anything but shy, telling you she's a drama student at NYADA and has two gay dads and two gay roommates, which must be a record (in her words - a record for what, you never asked), and in between school and working at the diner she goes to countless auditions and performs special sets at Callbacks with her friends and feeds homeless kittens and does Tae Bo as a hobby.

It's safe to say you're smitten the moment she tells you, you have a nice form and an above average singing voice and she's happy you're on her team. She then leaves you with Santana as your supervisor, and you're still in cloud nine over Rachel's voice, lip biting habit, and long legs that you don't care that Santana's first task for you is to clean the toilets and to fetch her an iced mocha.

* * *

You feel like you're being pushed underwater every time you're around Rachel and you're both alone. There's nothing you can do but flail around like an idiot who can't swim. You don't know exactly what to say, but you want to say it all. You fumble over the easiest stuff and you come off as even more of a loser than Santana calls you on a daily basis.

The first real conversation you both have is over a piece of toast, because you accidentally burnt it for a costumer and Rachel knows all about failing on your first time

"If I hadn't worn down Carmen Tibideaux with my determination and drive, she would have never accepted me into NYADA. Think of this toast being Tibideaux, you just have to give it a little push and whaalaaa, perfection."

You want to tell her you have no idea what she's talking about, but she seems so passionate to teach you that you'll let her walk you over a cliff if it means she'll speak to you a little bit longer. She goes into a little bit more about choking on her first audition, and you finally get the nerve to tell her your story about how you up and left San Diego for the fast life of New York. Of course, now you're a broke college student with zero backing from your parents, but at least you're making something of yourself.

"That's admirable," Rachel tells you with that familiar gentle smile. "All of my best friends and I are from a small town too. Kurt dropped everything to move here with me and try to make it. Santana up and left her full ride scholarship in Kentucky for New York too. One of my other friends, Quinn, you can't imagine the change she underwent the moment she left Lima for Yale. I like to think we were all suffocating in Ohio, and now we're just, free."

You just discover you two have something in common. It's little in retrospective, but it's a lot to you so you decide to run with it. You talk more about your small town roots, even though San Diego is one of the biggest cities in the US and it's pretty similar to LA, but hey, what she doesn't know won't hurt her. You're just happy that she's willing to spend the rest of her break talking to you.

* * *

You like to think you and Rachel are on friendly terms now. You say hi and bye to each other at work, you hang out during your breaks, and you even nabbed her phone number (although, that was only because she gave her number out to _everyone_ in case they needed vocal training). You're also friends with Kurt, Santana seems to tolerate you, and you joke around with Santana's girlfriend Dani like you're old friends.

So, although you're a little bit shy when you see Rachel in the same corner market you frequent, you still go up to her and say hi. You become nervous when she gathers you up in a big hug and greets you like she just saw Santa on Christmas day, because wow, you've never been greeted like that before. People in San Diego are more laid back and aren't in your face like New Yorkers, and Rachel fits the New York profile perfectly as if she'd been raised there all this time.

You ask her what she's doing here, but then retract the question because it's obvious she's at a grocery store shopping for groceries. She laughs at your lame mistake, goes into a little rant about clean living, being a vegan, and how ashamed she is to know Alec Baldwin shares her lifestyle. You listen with rapt attention to everything she says while trying to subtly hide the roll of ground beef in your hand basket.

She's so pretty when she's outside of her work uniform and dressed in loose, cozy sweaters with her hair freely flowing that you have this undeniable urge to ask her out. The question is at the tip of your tongue when she suddenly looks distracted and waves happily over your shoulder.

"Hey, I'm ready to go," says a blonde with pale, beautiful features, coming up behind you.

"Yeah, sorry, I was catching up with a coworker," Rachel says, attaching herself to her friend's arm. She introduces you to Quinn, her friend from Yale, and jokingly calls you Terry, her best friend from Spotlight.

You're disappointed that she's only joking though. You'd like to be her best friend, and then more.

Quinn greets you with a smile, barely looking at you, and you hope she'll let Rachel stay and talk but then she's slowly pulling Rachel away to the checkout. Rachel happily waves goodbye to you, and you don't think you've ever seen her this up and buoyant before. You're left standing there staring after them like a lovesick fool and left alone with a missed opportunity.

Next time, you tell yourself.

* * *

Next time doesn't come in the next week, because you can't seem to dredge up the nerves you had when you were at the grocery shop. Maybe it's because you feel intimidated in the 'professional' work place environment, and while you're sometimes alone with Rachel, you're never quite _alone_ with her. Your other coworkers and her friends are nearby all the time, and the only way two people have privacy here is if they whisper to each other.

You feel like you're going to get friendzoned and it's making you nervous. Despite how close you and Rachel seem to have gotten since you started working at Spotlight (it's only been 2 weeks, but feels like a lifetime with her) she doesn't seem to treat you any differently than say, Kurt. There hasn't been any secret smiles, lingering looks, or even subtle touches that you read about in those gay fanfictions that Santana forces you to read aloud to her when you don't follow her directions.

One day, you coyly ask Kurt if she's seeing anyone, but he's the type to correctly guess the murderer one minute into a Scooby Doo show so it's not a surprise when he says, "_Finally_, I was wondering when you were going to tell me about your crush."

You blush like a schoolgirl and try to play it off like a dude, but he reads you easily and makes you confess all of your frustration. You know you should be wary over Kurt's ominous look when you tell him you have feelings for her, but he's supportive nonetheless. He calls you a nicer guy than some of Rachel's last boyfriends, and really, his support is all you need to rejuvenate your will to officially ask her out.

"I have to warn you though," Kurt adds mysteriously, "Just because I know she's not seeing anyone now, doesn't mean she's not _interested_ in anyone. We're best friends but we don't really tell each other everything."

You're barely listening to what he's saying now, because Rachel is across the restaurant doing a rendition of Frank Sinatra's _Fly Me To The Moon_ and who can really ignore _that?_

* * *

You see Quinn Fabray again three days later when you're mumbling your diner's theme song while simultaneously shimmying and carrying a tray of food. You're finishing the first line of the song when a blur of red and tan zooms past you, threatening to knock off your tray of meatless burgers, salt-less fries, and a diet coke.

You manage to save the food by doing some aerobatics you never knew you had, and look up to see Rachel wrapped like an octopus around Quinn who's dressed like she's going out to church. Quinn's eyes are squeezed shut, face half buried in Rachel's shoulder, and her arms hold Rachel tightly around the waist in the type of way _you _wished you could. They stay like that, lost in their own moment, and you're hit with the longing to have the type of close friendship like Rachel has with Quinn.

"What are you doing here," you hear Rachel squeal when they finally part.

"I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop by. You know, check out the place that's brave enough to hire you and Santana."

"In the neighborhood, hmm? Oh, so you happened to take a 2 hour train ride and took another cab trip downtown just to say hi?"

You don't hear the rest of Quinn's answer, because Santana comes by with a fly swatter and slaps you in the back of his head. "Oops," she says, smiling unkindly. "I thought I saw a fly on your head. Buzzing around. Snooping into people's business. That sort of thing."

Get back to work and stopped snooping, is her subtle hint. You grin sheepishly at her, having been caught eavesdropping on her roommate, and quickly move to serve the people at your table.

Walking away, you take one last look over your shoulder to see Santana pull Quinn into a hug, but it doesn't last long and looks slightly uncomfortable. You don't put much thought into it though, because hugging Santana must be like rubbing yourself against a cactus anyways. Hugging Rachel, however, must feel like dropping yourself into a cloud of sunshine and rainbows.

Anybody would be in a daze to hug her.

* * *

You get invited to Callbacks as part of a big group of coworkers; your first time being out with friends in New York and first time being in an actual bar. It's not like you're a prude or anything, but it's difficult to go out when most of your friends are 19, jobless, and wouldn't know the word cool even if it stands in front of them waving around a sign that says…cool.

Yeah.

You're excited because Rachel was the one who asked you, with her big pleading eyes and pouty lips.

You're not surprise to find out that Callbacks is a karaoke bar with plenty of college students. When Rachel asks you, then begs you, and then pleads with you to go and duet with her, you decline. People at work already thinks you sing like a choked chicken under pressure, so you have no intention of purposely putting yourself out there on your day off. You sure do love soaking up Rachel's attention though.

Despite all of them being underage, Santana manages to spike their drinks so now Rachel is attentive _and_ extremely tactile. You cherish all the touches and hugs and brushes she gives you. The night was going really, really well for you, until it didn't.

This is the first time you begin to take a deeper notice in Rachel and Quinn's friendship.

As soon as Quinn Fabray walks into the bar, it's like Rachel's entire orbit revolves around the blonde in the leather jacket and frilly black skirt. Kurt accompanies Quinn and whom you assume is his boyfriend, Elliot. Santana and Dani are quick to ditch you and your other coworkers' table to join them and smother them with drunken kisses. They're acting like lifelong friends (and maybe they were), encase in their little bubble while everyone else looks on from the outside (or maybe it was just you).

Because you don't want to seem like _that _guy, you stick close to your other coworkers, occasionally sneaking glances at Rachel and Quinn in their separate booth. Okay, so you are coming off like _that_ guy, but at least you aren't giving them hungry wolf eyes and planning ways to get them alone in a back alley.

You don't want to be jealous of their close friendship, but there's something odd about the way they handle themselves together versus how Rachel would act with Santana, or Rachel with Kurt. For one thing, they're a lot more touchy feely, and for another thing, you can't help but notice that they only gravitate toward each other.

This blows, you think, because you wanted to be with Rachel out of the work environment, but it seems she only wanted to be with one person. Oh well, you'll get your chance.

Eventually.

* * *

_Finally!_

You inwardly high-five yourself over coffee and donuts and a beautiful Rachel Berry sitting across from you. It took Kurt pushing you and encouraging you for over an hour until you wracked up enough nerves to ask her out. You were a bumbling mess, that was certain, but instead of shooting you down Rachel had accepted your date with a gracious smile. She had even looked surprise, expecting to be put on candid camera, before realizing you were serious.

"Sorry if I'm rambling, but I haven't been asked out in a long time," Rachel tells you, making wild hand gestures. You notice that she seems to talk with her hands as much as her mouth, and the sight makes you fall more in love with her. "So, if I come off as a little try-hard, it's because of that."

You laugh, because all of this time _you_ were afraid of making a fool out of yourself, and here she is sharing your same fears. You decide to come out and tell her the truth – that you really liked her, wanted to ask her out, but were way too intimidated but her presence to even assume she'd want to go out with a nobody like you.

She seems taken back by your awkwardness but charmed at the same time. She reaches across the table to wipe a little sugar powder from your lip, and gives you the most adoring smile you've ever received from her.

"You really do know how to make a girl feel good," she says, and you become way too hot underneath your windbreaker to even meet her eyes.

You both talk a bit more – about your childhood, about her childhood – before her phone chimes and she checks a text message real quick. Several minutes later, her phone goes off again and she becomes momentarily distracted. You wonder if it's Kurt or Santana with a house emergency, but she quickly waves it off like they're bugging her. It gets to a point where she has to excuse herself because of a phone call, and you get a sick feeling in your stomach that this was just some hoax to get her out of a date.

But then Rachel comes back, perfectly normal and giddy, and tell you it's just Quinn and Quinn was having some Yale problems. You smile at that, but the sick feeling in your stomach doesn't go away completely.

It's only by the end of the date that you're certained everything went well, because Rachel gets up on her tippy toes, kisses your checks, and then asks _you_ if you wanted dinner next Saturday night.

* * *

You don't know if you're dating, but you've gone on two big dinner dates already plus multiple little ones where you'll eat lunch or catch a breakfast together when you're working the same shift. Santana makes a lot of dirty remarks and Kurt gives you his reassuring thumbs up, so that must mean something.

You've also kissed. A lot. But in terms of what you see in pornos, they're mostly regular kisses that lead to nowhere. You don't want to pressure her, because Rachel's been in a lot of sour relationships where she moved too quickly with sketchy guys, so you know you can't just stick your hand up her skirt and call it a day.

You want to woo her. To make her feel about you the way you feel about her.

You ask Kurt one day if he knows the ins and outs of Rachel Berry's perfect date fantasies. He has to think about it long and hard before he comes up with, "I honestly don't know. We talk about boys a lot, sure, but we don't really talk about perfect dates or anything. We talk about _bad_ dates." He grins at your pale expression. "Don't worry, you weren't mentioned at that talk."

Without thinking, you suggest that maybe you could ask Quinn or something since they're best friends, but the look Kurt gives you stops your thoughts and spikes your curiosity.

"Only recently," Kurt's quick to say, and you have to ask him to clarify. He seems to think it over before carefully answering. "They never used to be close. Up until a couple of months ago it was just a lot of bickering and fighting. It's _still_ bickering and fighting half the time, and they are good friends, but I wouldn't call them best friends or anything. _I'm _her best friend."

That's weird, you say, because Rachel sometimes talk about Quinn like you do about your favorite superhero movie – full of reverence and admiration. For two people who live two hours away by train, they spend an awful amount of free time together to just be mere acquaintances. Kurt just shrugs and tells you not to think about it too much. He also tells you not to ever bother Quinn about your Rachel Berry questions.

Your last thought on the subject is a simple _That's odd_ before you go about your day making sure the kid at table 2 doesn't choke on his chopsticks.

* * *

This is probably the sixth or seventh time you've been to the Bushwick loft, but the first time you've been there with Quinn in the same room. The only time you've ever seen her is when she randomly comes into the diner, but even then she's usually in and out without a word to you. You've thought about friending her on Facebook, since Rachel's your girlfriend now and you don't want to be the boyfriend who ignores their girlfriend's friends, but Quinn has her profile locked down and she's like, the epitome of intimidating.

You've come to realize that she's unapproachable. It's saying something that Quinn's a _lot_ more overwhelming than Santana ever was. Even when Santana was being rude and mocking your life choices, at least she acknowledges you and can be pretty cool to talk to about other stuff. Quinn, however, is like walking face first into a brick wall.

She doesn't really say anything to you other than hello. You can feel her glare on you from across a room, like she's quietly judging your every move, making you extremely self-conscious every time you're around her.

Like right now. The room is thick with tension, and you feel bad watching Rachel jump back and forth between you and her friend. Santana is too busy making out with Dani on the couch to care, and Kurt's playing some card game with Elliot and a guy who plays the drum from their band. Yes, Rachel's also in a band along with Kurt, Santana, Dani, and Elliot.

What can't your girlfriend do?

You try to pay attention to Kurt's card game, but then from the corner of your eyes you notice Quinn sitting on a bar stool with Rachel standing between her legs. It's the pair of white hands smoothing over the back of Rachel's thigh that catches your attention. A jolt of fear shoots through you, and it's not until you remind yourself that they're just friends – very touchy _female_ friends – that you calm down.

You don't look away, no matter how much your brain tells you to, you can't look away. It's as if you're trying to search for any cracks or breaks to prove you wrong. Like an idiot who goes searching for the thing that goes bump in the night.

Quinn must have sensed your staring because one glance over and she's making eye contact with you. Even though you're not a competitive person it feels like you've been thrown into a game. She doesn't move her hands; in fact, it looks like she just raised it higher. You're relieved when Rachel gives a surprise giggle, grabbing at Quinn's wrists and pulling her hands away.

You're pretty positive that you shouldn't _have to_ feel relieved.

Your chest, which has been clenching painfully, relaxes the moment Rachel skips back over to you. You can't help but wrap a possessive arm around her, kissing her temple gently and reminding her who she belongs to. You do all of that while meeting Quinn's stare directly.

This, you think, is a little less like relieve and a little more like rivalry.

* * *

You now get annoyed whenever Rachel brings up Quinn, even if it's in the most innocent, mundane way. For instance, like last week when she mentioned binge-watching an entire season of Sex and The City with Santana and Quinn. Or yesterday when she randomly told you Quinn doesn't like pickles with her sandwiches.

You like pickles with your sandwiches.

You wonder if Rachel knows that.

You hate being paranoid, but that's exactly how you feel every time Rachel drops whatever she's doing just to attend to Quinn's wishes. There are times when you'll try to get a hold of Rachel, only to be met by voice mails and unanswered texts. Then there are the moments that, even though you're with Rachel, it feels like she isn't with you at all.

Physically, yes; emotionally, you're still confused over her feelings for you.

This is the type of stuff that boyfriends on TV worry about, but what justifications do you have for worrying when it's only Rachel and her female friend?

Rachel has never shown any inclination toward the female sex. Sure, she'll make a stray comment or two on how pretty or beautiful another girl is, but her eyes don't stray like a man's would. You're now actively comparing the way Rachel is with Quinn to the way she is with Santana, and besides that drunken time at Callbacks and the awkward moment in the Bushwick loft, they're pretty identical.

But you can't seem to get the sinking sensation out of your stomach.

You ask her one evening if she was fine, because asking her straight out if she was bisexual is out of left field and pretty offensive, you think. It's just you and her at your apartment, and for the first time you both have no plans for the next day so there's an endless possibility for the night. You don't want to seem too eager, though.

She gives you an odd look, but then slowly nods her head. "Why? Am I acting like I'm not or something?"

You shrug, but since it's already out there you might as well go on. You list the things that's been bothering you – her distance, her never being available when you'd like, her putting everyone else before you – and although you've only been going out for a couple of weeks now, you had sort of expected her to be more clingy. Your first girlfriend was a major "why didn't you call me every hour!" type of girl, but you don't tell Rachel that.

Rachel is surprised to hear you say that. She says she understands and gives you an excuse that her high school boyfriend, Finn Hummelson or something, used to be embarrassed and turned off by her supposed neediness. She'd make cat calendars (hey, you love cat calendars!) for them, only to have him shove it right back in her face. So after they broke up for the hundredth time last summer, she promised herself never to be so clingy or dependent on _anyone_, especially the ones who don't appreciate her.

You tell her you appreciate her.

Going for broke, you tell her maybe that's how you feel too – that she doesn't appreciate you.

That sometimes, you feel second place to Quinn.

You think that's the wrong thing to say, but you don't regret saying it. Her eyebrows furrow, and she looks almost angry at your statement, and that's exactly the type of response you're looking for. If she denies it, denies her and Quinn, then maybe, just maybe you have a case to be suspicious.

But she doesn't deny it. She gently cups your cheeks, calls you "baby," and promises to pay more attention to you. "It's just that I rarely see Quinn, so forgive me if it seems like I'm ignoring you or anybody else. You know I care about you, and I never meant to make you feel that way."

You accept this excuse like you accept her Finn one, because deep down you _don't _want to read into it.

She's yours, you tell yourself. She's yours and only yours. And when you two make love for the first time that night, you try to remind her with every touch, grip, stroke, look, taste, sound.

* * *

For a week things get better. For another week they stabilize and go back to normal, back to the way they were at the beginning of your relationship. With the added bonus of having sex now, you think you're back to your honeymoon stage, where everything was blissful and brand new.

It goes to hell the day she comes back from Ohio after her Spring Break vacation, which she'd gone with Kurt, Santana, and none other than Quinn. Rachel is pulled further away from you, and you think it's way too early in the relationship for her to become disinterested so fast. It must have been Quinn's doing.

Then you attend one of Elliot's "End of the semester" parties, where it's a mixture of NYU, NYADA, and even some Julliard students. Like Rachel, Elliot's staying in a loft with 4 other guys, except his place is probably half the size of an abandoned warehouse and you feel like you're attending some homecoming dance from the high school days. The majority of them are performing art students, so Rachel fits right in with the crowd while you feel a bit left out with your bioengineering major. You fake it anyways, because you do work at Spotlight so it's not like you're completely clueless to the performing thing, and you want to make Rachel proud.

You think someone with Quinn's face and ability to catch attention would actually go out and make themselves popular. Instead of working the room, Quinn sticks by Rachel's side like Rachel should be sticking to yours. Like always, Quinn doesn't acknowledge you any further than a "hi," but this time you become more irritated than usual by her coldness. You want to say something, to get Quinn to see you as someone who's not disposable.

You're someone who's special in Rachel's life.

You're her competition.

You would have asserted your place too, if only Quinn hadn't asked you to get her and Rachel a drink. You're too much of a nice guy to shoot down her request, so you reluctantly excuse yourself for her. The problem is, as soon as you come back Rachel and Quinn are nowhere in sight.

You try to search for them, but Santana comes out of nowhere and drags you over to a group playing Balderdash. You want to tell Santana what the hell, because you've never displayed an interest in board games before, but then Santana and Dani are kind of drunk so they're forcing you to join them. Going against Santana is like going against the Ottoman Empire at its prime, and you'd rather not.

After several games, you've grown frustrated. Seeing that Santana and Dani have occupied themselves with each other's mouths, you sneak away in search of your girlfriend. They're not in the main room or kitchen, and there's a moving line to the bathroom, so they have to be in either of the bedrooms.

Your heart thumps rapidly every time you come up with a scenario as to _why_.

The first bedroom you come across is Elliot's. It's locked, but when you press your ear against the door you hear murmuring on the other side. You know Elliot and Kurt are in the main room, and you assume whoever is in Elliot's bedroom had permission from him to be in there.

You take in a slow and steady breath, and knock. Several times. There's quietness, then a lot of shuffling and more whispered talk, before someone scrambles close to the door and it's a clear feminine voice that asks, "Who is it? We'll be out in a second."

Your jaw clenches, knuckles are white, and something akin to a head rush pounds through you. Then the door opens and you've never felt such a relief in your life when you see it's not Rachel nor Quinn on the other side.

* * *

You tell Rachel you don't want her seeing or talking to Quinn anymore. You tell her you don't like the way Quinn looks at her, or talks to her, or touches her. You tell her you don't like the way _she_ looks at Quinn, or talks to Quinn, or touches Quinn. You don't like the person she becomes when she's around Quinn.

You don't like how it took forever before Rachel finally reappeared with Quinn in tow at Elliot's party. You don't like the smug look on Quinn's face, or the fact that Rachel's lipstick had been a shade lighter than at the beginning of the night.

You don't like how Rachel would just drop everything still – including you – to come to Quinn, and you don't like knowing that Quinn would do the same for her.

You don't like that the majority of Rachel's phone calls and text messages come from Quinn, or that she has countless photos of them on her phone. You don't like how nervous Rachel becomes when you playfully go through her phone, her Facebook messages, or her email, even when you're willing to let her look at your things. You don't like thinking that Rachel has something to hide.

You don't like the snickers that Santana gives you every time you get irritated at being ditched for Quinn. You don't like the secretive looks that even Kurt has when Rachel and Quinn are in the same room.

You don't like Quinn.

You don't like how easy it was for Rachel to tell you to get over it, that she will never stop seeing Quinn just because some _boy_ tells her to, and slams the door on her way out.

* * *

The weekend passes, and you feel like you're in a limbo, because Rachel hasn't returned any of your calls or messages and you get one from Kurt saying that she'd already hopped a train to visit Quinn in New Haven.

During those two days of no contact you feel like a complete idiot. Did you overreact? Probably. But you also feel like if Rachel cared about you as much as she did Quinn, then she would try and see it from your perspective. She wouldn't want you fraternizing, playing coy, sneaking off, and being flirty with a female friend, would she? You begin to think back on their past interactions, and if Quinn had been a boy, those red flags would have raised sooner.

Rachel returns from her trip on Monday. She doesn't have work, but you do. Right after your shift you go straight to her place knowing she'll at least be home. Kurt lets you in before slipping out and giving you two some privacy.

Rachel's not surprised to see you; instead, she just looks exhausted. She offers you tea that you decline, and you don't bother to take a seat on her frumpy, second hand couch. You get straight to it, asking her to be honest with you for once, begging her to tell you whether or not she's cheating on you. When she's unable to meet your eyes, you know. You just know.

I'm in love with you, you tell her as a last resort. Her eyes shoot straight to you, and while they glisten over there's no actual threat of tears falling. You feel everything around you fall and crumble when she doesn't say anything back.

"We've only been together for 2 months…" are her first words after a long, drawn out silence, and she sounds incredulous. "I don't think I've ever even seen a picture of your parents."

It doesn't matter. It was love at first sight for you. The best part of being in New York had been her and for the little while that she was yours. She'd been everything that you wanted and didn't know you need. You know you should've held a tighter leash on her, or kept her further away from Quinn at least. Now it's too late - deep in your heart you know she'll never leave Quinn.

So you tell her that it's alright, that she's forgiven, that she can come back to you and you'll turn a blind eye on her affair.

Rachel is stunned into silence, her mouth slightly ajar. The pounding inside your ear is too loud, so you miss her the first time she says, "I can't do this, we need to break up." When you catch it the second time, a rush of anger comes to you like never before and your closed fist - which you weren't aware was closed at all - comes flying toward a wall. Her breath gets caught in her throat and she steps back, which causes you to break out of the red that colors your vision.

You apologize. You apologize again and again, even as she steps further away from you. She returns every one of your pleas with a sad head shake before saying, "This is the problem, Terry. You say you're in love with me, but are you really? You know my favorite color, what I like to eat, my career goal, but Quinn...she knows _why _I like pink; she knows even though I'm a vegan I sneak in cheese every once in a while; she knows I want to be on Broadway, but I'd also like to teach before I die. You think I'm perfect and wonderful and we never fight. She knows I'm amazing, but she also knows I can be selfish and obnoxious and we fight half the time."

Her laugh is shaky and watery, but there's still no tears in her eyes. You wonder if she even cares that she's breaking your heart. "I'm so sorry for doing this to you," she says, "And for cheating on you. At first it was to get back at her, but then...then we started dating for reals and I honestly did wanted to be with you and only you. But Quinn...I'm so sorry."

You want to do something rash and brave, to prove to her and you're the only one for her, but then Santana comes home and the scowl she gives you after trading a look with Rachel is enough to send you home in defeat.

* * *

You see Quinn a few months later, and that's after you quit your job at Spotlight and long after you were dumped by Rachel. Quinn looks the same since the last time you saw her, except you recognize that there is a difference in her. She looks happy. You're gutted because you know the happiness that's quietly displayed all over her face should have been yours.

You're inside the grocery store that Rachel goes to every weekend. You haven't been in here since your breakup, afraid of running into her, but the pain has subsided into less hurt and more bitterness, and you feel as though you can probably see Rachel now without wanting to throw up. You weren't expecting Quinn though, so the moment her familiar blonde hair and summer dress walks down the aisle you're in, you freeze up.

She notices you and freezes up too.

You're both at a standstill.

Then her mouth curves up into a little smile that's not friendly or unfriendly, and it's not nothing either. You don't know what it is, you just know it makes your spine straighten up, your chest puff out, and your jaw clench. You feel like you're a dog, she's a cat, and you're both acting territorial over this grocery store.

Eventually, she breaks your staring contest and strolls straight pass you with her cart. Watching her leave with her cart that's probably full of organic food and pink products reminds you that she has everything that's supposed to be yours.

You should have just stayed in San Diego.

* * *

**AN: **I know some people might have issues with Rachel/Quinn being cheaters. I was debating over that too, because I don't like making my characters cheat but at the same time, they're already cheaters in canon. They're also a bunch of 18/19 year olds who make mistakes left and right, and who really don't know any better. *Kanye shrug*

On another note, yes, Terry is really a possessive asshole at heart.


End file.
